Hunter of the Shadows Book 3: Enemy at the Door
by skag trendy
Summary: On the run from John Winchester, Sam, Dean and Tobius head for safety, only to encounter a battle ground where the rules keep changing and the foe turns out to be far smarter and more dangerous than ever imagined. But, just who is this faceless enemy?
1. Chapter 1

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Author's Foreword:**

Welcome one and all to the final part of Hunter of the Shadows.

The action kicks off right from the first chapter, which pretty much starts almost where we left our boys at the end of book 2, and there may well be some stunning revelations as the story progresses. More new OCs will be introduced along the way, as the boys' journey reaches its conclusion.

Oodles of Limp Sam await you, so I really hope the long 'verse hiatus will be worth your while.

Very special thanks goes out to my new beta, Ash48, who very kindly stepped in when my last beta decided to pull out, due to artistic differences.

Thanks a million babe, I couldn't have done it without all your support and encouragement.

**Please note: It is essential to have read Let the Red Mist Descend, the missing Christmas story to the first book, before you embark on this one. It's only a one shot and not too long, so don't panic!**

**Beta's Foreword:**  
>I think I nearly fell off my chair when Skag Trendy emailed me to see if I'd be interested in reading the drafts of Hunter of the Shadow Book 3. I leapt at the opportunity (of course!) because I have been <em>dying<em>to read the next instalment. I have been a big fan of this 'verse and I was very keen to see what direction the saga would continue in.

And I have to say, I wasn't disappointed. The third instalment widens this amazing universe and adds to the epic nature of the story. We are introduced to some wonderful characters, given some startling background information, are wrapped up in an intriguing mystery and, of course, are allowed to wallow in some delicious hurt!Sam, along with some of the heart warming brother moments that this 'verse is known for.

I admit to feeling a little out of my depth as a fic beta, but ST has graciously allowed me to 'give it a go' and I have had an enormous amount of fun doing so.

I'm sure you'll love this instalment as much as I have.

Regards,

Ash48.

_**Warning:**_

**Bad language, kidnapping, drugging, blood, guts, etc. The usual crap you've come to expect from me.**

**Please feel free to read the glossary below if you just need a bit of reminding about characters and terminology.**

**If not, then just skip ahead to the beginning of the chapter...**

**Glossary**

**As recommended by my beta reader.**

**Species: Non-lunar werewolves. **

**Classification: Type Two.**

Characters: Tobius Le Salle, Dean Winchester, and Sam Winchester.

All three are huge; they come up above the waist of your average human when on all fours. Think of the size of a Newfoundland and add a couple of inches. Also, they have huge paws, like the size of sandwich plates!

They are all also of the long-haired variety; if you've ever seen a long haired German Shepherd, you'll get some idea. Their tails are long, thick and shaggy and have often been used throughout the stories to wrap around each other as a comfort blanket.

Their eyes also **glow**, practically all the time.

As with grey wolves, these three are openly affectionate to each other and often snuggle up in wolf, or human form, for warmth or comfort. While in wolf form, there is lots of sniffing and nibbling of ears, checking for fleas, and rubbing up against each other when one of them shows signs of stress or anxiety. This affection is readily given and received without an ounce of embarrassment since it comes naturally to their wolf-pack nature, in spite of how Dean and Sam might have felt about it _before_ they became werewolves.

So, onto distinctive colourings/markings, and I'll throw in a few characters traits for you.

**Tobius** is the proud, wise pack Alpha and is therefore the largest. At over eight hundred years old, he is black and tan, with a head the size of a lion and huge fangs. His eyes glow a deep forest green.

He is a bit of a mystery, and his long distant, and sometimes not so distant, past is gradually uncovered during the course of the 3 books, but especially so in the final book, where some massive and potentially damaging revelations take place.

Born in the province of Anjou in France, he remembers watching the young knights heading off to fight in the Crusades.

He was reputed to have been living in London during the Great Fire of London in 1666, fought the Germans at the Normandy Landings, and admitted to having been Officer Commanding the 22nd SAS regiment during the 1960s.

But after a long, interesting and not always happy existence, Tobius has hinted at retiring, not just from the hunt but from his status as Alpha, with the intention of passing the torch onto Dean.

In human form, I would cast Hugh Jackman in this role.

**Dean** is Tobius' son, by virtue of having been turned by Tobius when he was in his late teens.

He is the next largest in size and in book three he is only a few weeks away from his 'prime' (This is like a rite of passage. When a werewolf hits their quarter century they are no longer considered to be a child or 'pup' and they are usually at their largest and strongest. The prime is also when the werewolf stops growing older).

His role is the pack Beta, or bodyguard.

He refers to Tobius by his name, or as 'Sire', or occasionally 'Father'. He never calls him 'Dad'.

In wolf form he is pitch black, no speckles, no variation of tones, just black so deep that when the light catches it, it almost gleams blue. His eyes are a deep, sparkling emerald green. As with all non-lunars, he is as handsome in wolf form as he is in human.

A fierce warrior and protector, Dean is a driven pack Beta who seems to be slowly opening up to the issue of his future. There have been remarks, hints and suggestions made along the way by various characters that he will one day ascend to pack Alpha.

Indeed, he has already proven himself worthy of such a role in the eyes of his Sire.

Most importantly, his honour and loyalty to friends and family is beyond doubt, and may sometimes blind him to their faults, but not for long. He usually figures things out for himself, but finds comfort when his pack backs him up.

Finally, if Dean is said to dote on his Sire and Father, it is nothing compared to his love and affection for the youngest member of their pack.

**Sam** is the youngest and therefore the most protected, to his steadily mounting frustration.

He starts out in the beginning as Dean's very human little brother, but at the age of 15 is turned by Dean in order to save his life after being shot by John Winchester. By non-lunar lore, Sam becomes Dean's son, but out of respect to their previous sibling relationship they refer to each other as _brotherson _(Sam), and _fatherbrother _(Dean). In many ways, they are still like siblings, but their relationship becomes far stronger than that.

It is also the most unique relationship in the _Were _world, because no other werewolves have been able to turn a human sibling, due to a deadly rejection at the genetic level. There is some speculation in the second book that the reason it was possible was because Sam was infected with demon blood as a baby. But book three might offer another theory on that.

Dean's act of saving his life, of course, also makes Sam grandson to Tobius.

Sam has the most unusual of colourings. This becomes apparent as the stories progress, and becomes especially noted in the second book by the Alpha of another pack. He is rather embarrassed about being so different and often ducks his head shyly when it is remarked upon. His fur is a deep burnished gold, or autumn red, and looks much like a Red Setter would look if it had the large pointy ears of a German Shepherd.

But his eyes, which are a most unusual shade, glow a deep, sea blue-green, and this makes a startling contrast against such a red coat. To the knowledge of many of the non-lunars we meet throughout the three books, there are no other wolves with Sam's colouring in existence, though there may be some speculation about it later in the final book.

Sam has been considered the pack 'trainee' in the past, but has already made a name for himself as a highly intelligent and protective hunter. Like Dean, he will fight to the death for his loved ones, but in the past he has displayed a nasty tendency to jump straight in without thinking, often with horrific consequences.

It is felt by Dean and Tobius that once he grows out of this, he will make a superb pack Beta.

**The Home Pack **is a nomadic pack of wolves that befriend the boys during their travels in book 2. It later emerges that the Home Pack Alpha is old friends with Tobius.

**Lucas **is the Home Pack's Alpha, a gruff but good natured Scot with a love of life, food, travel and a mild distain of the outside 'human' world.

**Victoria (sometimes known as Vicki) **is Lucas' life mate, mother to his pups, and the former pack beta. She gave up the beta seat because of her love of her pups and her extensive culinary skills.

**Cornelius **is the Home Pack Beta. He was rescued from humans as a pup by Lucas and Vicki, but cannot thought project due to permanent damage – he was tortured by his human captors with silver. His friendship with Sam and Dean started off a little shaky, but he soon became firm friends with them both, especially Sam. He even helped Sam overcome some of his own issues resulting from captivity by humans and silver torture, though those conversations will remain strictly between the two of them.

**Species: Non-lunar werewolves. **

**Classification: Type One.**

**Characterisation: **These non-lunars easily match the Type Twos for strength. However, they are also narcissistic, psychotic and violent, and lack emotions or the ability to empathise.

Their dangerous nature is reflected in their glowing, cherry red eyes, an eye colour which, so far as the books know, remains peculiar to Type Ones.

They care little for Type Twos and don't care at all for humans.

Their biggest asset is their extraordinary ability to interfere with the thought projections of other non-lunars. This is mostly a subconscious action, but they do exhibit some limited control over it.

**The Human hunters **are also quite important in this story. Bobby Singer and Pastor Jim Murphy have known the boys most of their lives. Though they take part in some video entries, their main appearance is often in later chapters, where they are needed most.

**Werebears **Jose, Gerald and their daughter Janaya-Maria, and, since book 2, their son, Andy Gallagher, are the werebear family that are effectively Tobius' neighbours. They live a few miles away from Tobius' cabin.

Good natured, loyal, charming, if a little clumsy, the werebears have proven very useful and strong in battle.

The action kicks off right from the first chapter, which pretty much starts almost where we left our boys at the end of book 2, and there may well be some stunning revelations as the story progresses. More new OCs will be introduced along the way, as the boys' journey reaches its conclusion.

Oodles of Limp Sam await you, so I really hope the long 'verse hiatus will be worth your while.

Here we go, boys and girls, and hold onto your knickers;

The road's about to get bumpy...

**Chapter 1**

_**Now…**_

**The red wolf is curled up on the sofa, head draped across Dean's denim-clad knees, staring intently at the large TV panel fixed to the wall above the red brick fireplace.**

**His snout twitches a little and he yawns widely, followed by a slow, lazy lick around his chops. He huffs out a contented sigh. Even though Dean is clearly fast asleep, his hand continues to gently scratch behind the red wolf's ears.**

**Scream 3 is the movie of interest, and the moment Randy, Sydney Prescott's one time best friend and murder victim from the second film, appears on screen, Sam blinks slowly then tenses up. Randy appears as part of his own video message, and his last words to Sydney have a profound affect on the young wolf….**

"…_**true trilogies are all about going back to the beginning and discovering something that wasn't true from the get go. God Father, Jedi… all revealed something that we thought was true, but wasn't…"**_

**Sam's eyes widen, not in fear as such, more in understanding; he's obviously one of the few in the world who really _gets_ it.**

"… _**the past will come back to bite you in the ass…"**_

**Sam lifts his massive head, dislodging his _fatherbrother's _hand, and incidentally waking him.**

"**Sammy? You ok?" Dean yawns then frowns. "Dude, you're shaking…"**

**Sam ignores him for the moment, just carries on listening to Randy's posthumous wisdom.**

"_**Anything you thought you knew about the past? Forget it! The past is not at rest! Any sins you think were committed in the past are about to break out and destroy you." **_

**Understanding dawns on Dean like the early morning sun.**

"**Aw, Sammy," he gently grabs Sam's muzzle and turns to stare deep into the young wolf's eyes. Dean is obviously hearing something the camera doesn't pick up, because he nods, smile a little sad. "Yeah, I know. But it doesn't change a thing, dude. You're still my boy..."**

**Sam snuffles into Dean's hand and whimpers gratefully.**

…**_bleep…bleep…bleep…_**

"**_Out of memory" _appears on camera, along with a low battery alert.**

**Dean's head jerks up immediately. "Dammit! Must've left it switched on all night," he grins sheepishly at Sam. "Maybe now we finally have evidence Tobius snores, _and_ howls in his sleep!" He chuckles when Sam woofs softly in agreement, and the atmosphere is lifted. "Yeah, _and_ scratches himself…"**

"**I heard that!" is growled from off screen, presumably coming from the other end of the room. "And for the hundredth time I _do not snore!"_**

"**Sure ya don't," Dean cockily replies. "But you do scratch..."**

"**Would you like a rendition of your own more... _unsavoury _habits, pup?" Tobius drawls, smugness abound. "Or should I say _Mr Skidmarks?_"**

"**Dude! That was a forest deer with the runs and you know it! And besides," Dean looks mildly uncomfortable, then mumbles: "Thought you were all the _discreet gentleman _type 'bout that crap."**

"**Should I pardon that particular pun?" Tobius mumbles, half to himself then, with a snort from off camera, continues "Until I met you, yes. Then years later I ran out of _discreet _and only had sheer _crass _to work with."**

"**Ouch!" Dean grins, good-naturedly, scratches his chest and stands up. He stretches his back with a loud _crack!_ then swaggers his way over to the camera. "Now…" he fiddles with a new memory stick, there's a _click_ as he slots it in place, and the memory warning disappears.**

**But the battery is another issue. Dean tsks softly, and then hooks up some kind of cable, followed by more _clicks _and _clunks_, and crouches back on his heels, smiling broadly.**

"**Just gotta charge this baby up, and we're ready to roll…" he reaches out to the top of the camera "But for now…_TTFN_ ."**

_**Click.**_

**The screen goes blank.**

_**Click.**_

**It's fuzzy for a moment, then...**

**Dean grins widely into the lens.**

"**Welcome back, guys. Hope you're all doing ok," he leans forward and clasps his hands between his knees. "So, latest is this. After one hell of a battle, Sam fought Jake, got stabbed in the heart with a silver sword, and nearly died. Sire managed to remove the silver by…" he winces slightly, and his eyes darken. "Cutting open Sam's chest and restarting his heart. Anyway, it saved his life but the silver took his sight." Dean clicks his tongue. "But that wasn't the only issue." He stares at the screen and takes a deep breath. "Ready for this? Apparently, it wasn't some sick cosmic joke at our expense, but John Winchester really was back from the dead, as a demon, and he was coming for us."**

**His smile has turned grim.**

"**So we left the Home Pack pretty much as soon as Sam was well enough, and hit the road," he leans forward, green eyes aglow and something about the expression on his face might send a shiver down the digital watcher's spine. "But we were never going to be safe. Hell's spies were everywhere…"**

_**Then…**_

_Sam, eat your food._

_M'not hungry._

_Don't care, eat your food, dammit!_

Sam sighed heavily and picked up his fork.

I couldn't blame the poor kid. Even blind, he could sense the curious stares from the other diner patrons and it made him visibly uncomfortable.

_Don't worry Sammy. We're leaving just before sunup._

_Not a moment too soon, you ask me, _he mumbled_._

This was a back-woods town out in the middle of nowhere, almost completely off the grid, as it were, so its residents were unaccustomed to meeting someone with special needs. That honestly hadn't occurred to me until we stepped out of the guest house door and started our trek down the main street in search of food. People stopped and gazed at us for a few minutes, with no hint of animosity, then once they'd satisfied their curiosity they carried on with whatever chores or tasks our arrival had interrupted.

This was our second town in as many days and we were getting tetchy. But at least we hadn't been attacked... yet.

Unlike the first one...

The owner of _that_ particular guest house was an elderly lady who smelled strongly of lavender. She had a kind, sweet smile, and had taken one look at Sam, his eyes covered in dark shades, hand clutching at my seeing-eye-dog harness, and hurriedly booked us in.

She'd cooed over Sam first off, then with a bit of encouragement and proof that I wasn't likely to eat her, she began cooing over me.

I sensed Sire's amusement, caught the slight eye-roll as the lady ruffled my fur and placed a gentle kiss on my snout, then she disappeared into a room out back and returned bare moments later carrying the left-overs of a roast dinner.

"Such a hard working, helpful dog surely deserves a treat now and then?" her statement carried an obvious question mark at the end as she glanced between Sam and me. "It's all healthy, made it myself?"

_Ohhhh boy._

Beef, roasted in honey and mustard, with roast potatoes, cold but still dripping with gravy, lovely chunks of slightly crispy fat still clinging to the meat. I sniffed and whined softly, glancing up at Sam, awaiting the go ahead, the slight nod that told any humans present Sam was the boss. He was in control.

"Go ahead, boy, don't insult the lady by turning it down," said Sam, fondly, though with a faint hint of sarcasm in his tone.

"Woof!"_ You're just jealous!_

_Shutup and eat. I'm tired. _Sam reached up, rubbed at his eyes behind the dark lenses, and barely stifled a yawn.

Kid was a little snappy, but that was understandable given the long car journey, those long legs all scrunched up for hours on end. We were all fed up with our present circumstances, on edge, in need of a break and a hunt, but Sam especially had a great deal on his mind. The loss of his girlfriend, being stabbed in the heart by silver and subsequently blinded in human form, and now we were on the run from our demonic ex-Dad…

...and I don't think I need to tell you how pissed Sam was about _that._

Kid wanted to seek him out and confront him head on. Can't really blame him for that either, I guess, but Sire was right. We weren't ready.

I sniffed mournfully at the food one last time, licked the old lady's hand in thanks, and turned away.

_I know. Sorry kiddo. Wasn't thinking…_

Sam stopped me with a hand on my harness. "Go on, boy."

_No, _I'm _sorry. I was being a selfish brat. Your prime is only a few weeks away and you desperately need your food, now. Go ahead Dean, please? For me?_

Tobius, who had remained in the background up 'til now, stepped in.

"Take my arm, Sam," Tobius nodded and smiled at the guest house owner. "We'll let Dean eat his treat in peace whilst I get you comfortable in our room. How's that sound?"

I wagged my tail.

Sam nodded and gently squeezed my neck. "Don't eat too fast, Dean, or you'll make yourself sick," he mumbled, wearily, and raised a small, affectionate –_apologetic-_ smile just for me.

_Thanks guys._

The two of them shuffled off after the old lady, who was brandishing our room keys and telling Sire that she'd take good care of me.

I was ready, able, and willing to plough into my food, but being a wolf it's a habit to play a little. It's not as gross or surprising as it sounds. It's already dead so half the fun's been taken out of it, right? So, I sometimes like to play.

I snuffled around the edge of the platter, huffing and snorting menacingly.

_Yeah. You ain't getting away from me...mooboy!_

I pounced downwards, teeth bared in a snarl and sniffing furiously at the gravy out of habit.

And lucky for me I did, because I smelled something... _strange_. Another good sniff around the plate had me backing away, and racing down the hall towards my family. Bitch had poisoned the food with silver. It was heavily disguised but not quite enough to fool me.

I got there just in time to see the old biddy standing behind Sire, smile turning feral and her eyes rolling black. A flash of silver, as a blade was revealed from a roll of lavender oil-scented fabric, had me leaping into action at the same time Sire spun around, teeth bared and snout elongating, ready for the attack.

But Sam suddenly shot forward, stood in Sire's path and grabbed the demon by the upper arms, pushing it up against the bedroom wall. He gave a sharp squeeze to the woman's hand, and the knife thudded harmlessly to the carpet.

"Who sent you?" he growled, unseeing eyes narrowed angrily. When the demon just grinned insanely Sam seemed to sense its insolence and gave it a rough shake. "_Who?"_

_Sammy, easy there, huh? The host ain't no spring chicken, _I informed him, slinking forward fully into the room.

Sam seemed to calm down a little but didn't relax his grip. Tobius, in human form but fangs still on show, hovered protectively over the kid's shoulder.

"I'll ask you again," Sam hissed. "And I'll be getting an answer this time, or I'll send you right back where you came from. Something tells me you know I can do it, too."

That seemed to loosen the demon's tongue, but that unnerving grin never faltered.

"You _know_," it whispered, little old lady's voice now creeped-up a few notches, corrupted by eons of sin and evil. "You _know_ who sent us, who seeks you out even now…" the demon strained against Sam's grip and the neck suddenly stretched unnaturally until its face was a hair's breadth from Sam's.

"He'll find you," it continued, tongue rolling in a mouth full of saliva. "Already he senses you, is _drawn_ to you, like a moth to a flame." Quick as a snake, the tongue darted out and marked a bloody slash up Sam's cheek bone.

Sam, gasping and swearing, shoved the demon away from him and wiped the blood off with the back of his hand. The demon, however, licked its lips, moaning with ecstasy.

"You taste delicious young Winchester," it cackled loudly, then shot a ferocious glare my way. "And _you! _You got lucky this time, the _both_ of you," the glare was redirected at Tobius who shrugged, unconcerned with the obvious threat. "Watch your backs, _doggies_. Once you're out of the way, Sam will be ripe for the picking." The demon made some sick, sucking and slithering noises with its tongue. "There'll be no stopping John Winchester once he has you, _Sammy_. Do you want to know what he'll do to you?"

"Fuck you! Where is he?" Sam demanded, recovered from the demon's assault.

Impatient when the demon didn't answer quickly enough, he held up a hand palm outwards and his eyes began to glow.

It fought hard, bucking and writhing. The blackness within the elderly woman's body held tight, gasping and choking on itself. But Sam refused to relent, just upped the wattage a little more.

"You _want _to return to hell?" he roared, rolling his palm into fist. _"Tell me where he is!"_

Still no answer, just a deep chuckle that turned into creepy raucous laughter.

Sam finished the job.

Within seconds the floor was a mass of swirling black clouds and fiery sparks as the demon smoked out, leaving the poor old girl a crying, quivering mess in Tobius' arms.

Thankfully, she was in shock but physically unharmed.

Our gallantry earned us free lodgings at the owner's insistence, and under the utmost secrecy. We would stay in town for one night only, just for Sammy to rest up, and the following morning we'd be gone, high-tailing it away, leaving the guest house swamped with wards and protection symbols. There was no telling how long the lady would live after something so physically and emotionally draining, but we couldn't leave her without a fighting chance.

It was at this point Tobius contacted Bobby, and after some discussion it was confirmed that our present course was no longer safe or fit for purpose. We were to head away from all that was familiar and comforting if we wanted to keep our friends safe.

But our encounter with the guest house demon had truly rattled our cages.

And it was just the beginning…

_**TBC**_

_**So far there are 19 completed chapter to this story, with the promise of more, so!**_

_**C'mon everyone. Start clicking that review button. **_

_**You make sure all my hard work has been worth it **_

_**and I might even consider posting the next chapter very very soon...**_

_**Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas, and here's wishing you a Happy New Year.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 2**

_**Now…**_

**Dean glances across at Sam, now in human form, curled up on the couch, head in Tobius' lap and fast asleep. Tobius' own eyes are closed but he's obviously awake, because he's idly stroking his grandson's soft hair and humming a soft tune.**

**Sam rolls his head to the side in his sleep, mutters softly, but otherwise seems quite content. There's an air of closeness about Grandpa and Grandson that hasn't been quite as obvious as it is now, and it might make the digital audience ponder its significance. **

**Dean is watching them with a speculative look on his face and a peaceful smile that gives the impression of some inner battles hard fought, and won.**

**Turning back to the camera, Dean carries on with his story telling.**

"**Bobby and Pastor Jim were supposed to be our first port of call, since John had damn near killed Jim," Dean tutts, angrily. "Wanted to check the poor guy was ok, but after the guest house demon, Bobby advised against it. Said he felt like he was being watched and didn't want to draw us out, just in case. We had no idea where John was, or who he was possessing… and that was the bitch of all this. It could have been absolutely anyone, and without getting up close and personal, there was no way to tell. But!" Dean raised a triumphant finger. "Bobby had a cunning plan…"**

_**Then…**_

"So what's the plan?" I asked, eyeing Sire curiously while he climbed behind the wheel. With his usual calm grace he closed the driver's door, and sat quietly for a minute or two.

Sam sat up, frowning behind his shades, and inclined his head slightly towards me in a silent question.

I just shrugged in response, my shoulder lightly jostling his. Blind as Sam was, he got the message. Sire had just been involved in another highly interesting discussion with Bobby Singer about our situation. I'd stayed in the car with Sam, keeping my eyes and ears peeled for trouble.

Call us paranoid, but we weren't too keen on using cell phones, or communication magic, with someone like John Winchester on our tail. An ordinary public pay phone was less easily traced, but we had to be quick in case Bobby's phone was being demonically 'tapped'.

But Tobius looked troubled.

"Sire?" I prompted, gently.

"Hmm?" he blinked and twisted his body round to face us.

More and more these days, I was happily relegated to the rear seat with my son. Made it all the easier to protect him, and not riding shotgun beside Sire no longer rankled like it used to. I guess I really was growing up.

"Oh. Yes. Well…" he trailed off, turned to face forward again, and tapped the steering wheel with his index finger.

Another silence.

I rolled my eyes. This was getting us nowhere.

"Uh… you were saying?" I waved my hand in a 'roll on' gesture.

Tobius sighed, reached down and turned the key in the ignition. As the engine roared to life, he finally started talking.

"For a start, Bobby advised me to find a quiet, out of the way place in order conduct a cloaking spell," checking his blind spot and finding it safe, he pulled the car back onto the road. "As soon as it's activated, we move on…"

I was getting frustrated with his hesitation. "Ok. So after we make like a Klingon Bird of Prey, _where_ do we move on to next?"

"Canada," his reply was short and to the point.

"Canada?" Sam murmured. "As in…"

"As in as far as north as possible without getting our paws wet," Tobius nodded grimly, then added "Or frozen."

I chewed on my bottom lip, giving this careful consideration.

"What's up north?" I asked, casually.

"The Aurora Borealis, for one thing," Tobius replied, all fake joviality.

"What's so special about the Northern Lights?" asked Sam, dolefully. "It's just the Earth's magnetic field."

Tobius and I shared a sad look in the rear-view mirror. Sammy wouldn't be able to appreciate them in any case. Apparently, non-lunars can only see the Aurora Borealis in human form. Don't ask me why. We can see everything else in this world, up to and including some sights we wished we never could. But magnetic radiation? Nope. Not in wolf form, the one form Sam's sight was functioning well for.

"The break will do us good, and we have a place to stay," Tobius deliberately ignored Sam's uncomfortable question. "I think you'll like it up there."

"What aren't you telling us?" I demanded, fed up with the typical Tobius cryptics.

"Lots of things," he answered, smugly. "But you should be used to that, young pup."

This time, both Sam and I huffed impatiently and folded our arms in a deep sulk. I spied Sire's self-satisfied grin in the rear-view mirror and scowled.

Must've been hours later when I woke up and the car was just bumping gently off the road again. Sire pulled in behind some dark conifers, switched off the headlamps and kept on going, while I yawned and stretched, jostling Sammy in the process.

Taking a good look around, I nodded in approval just as the car coasted to stop. We were nicely hidden up in thick forest, night was falling fast, and no human would be able to find us out here.

Damn shame it wasn't humans on our tails, huh?

Sam lifted his head from my shoulder, raised his chin and took a long hard sniff. One hand reached up and scrabbled at the shades, pulling them off his face.

"We can't be far from the Canadian border," he announced, and sniffed again. "Forests smell differently up here, and the air…" another sniff. "Snow's on the way."

Tobius smiled, obviously impressed, teeth gleaming in the fading evening light.

"Only another couple of hours and we'll be on Canadian soil," he agreed and winked at me in the mirror. "And the snow will help cover our tracks. Now!" Sire thumped the steering wheel lightly and opened the driver's door with a flourish. "Let's get that cloaking spell activated."

"What's involved?" I asked, following Sam out the rear seat. "We don't have to sacrifice anything do we?"

Tobius turned a surprised expression on me. "What an absurd thing to say."

"No. It's probably something simple," explained Sam. "You don't need much to keep a demon off the scent. Just a lot of holy water and a shit load of patience."

Tobius spluttered a little and even I had a hard time containing my shock. Sam wasn't usually one for profanities but lately he was becoming more and more expressive.

"Sam's right," Tobius recovered more quickly than I did and he seemed to take great pleasure in that. "Holy water is the easy part. But as Sam so eloquently put it, the incantation itself is extremely… _wearing_, I suppose you could say. It has to be, in order to be powerful enough to keep us off the demonic radarscope."

I was sceptical. "And you're sure this thing'll work?"

Sire shrugged. "I trust Bobby Singer's judgment in these matters."

"Ok." I nodded, still not entirely happy. "What if it wears off? Even holy water will evaporate eventually."

Sam bumped my shoulder with his. "The holy water is probably only the catalyst for the spell to take, but not essential to keep it running."

"Sam's right," said Sire. "There is one counter-point to contend with, however. It'll cloak our movements, as in our aura or _signature, _but if we run headlong into John by chance we won't be invisible to him. That's just not how it works," he added when he saw the obvious protest on my face. "As soon as the spell takes, we head straight up north to safety before he catches on something's amiss."

I felt like sulking. There was me thinking of Harry Potter's cloak of invisibility, and how _cool _that would be, but it turned out to be nothing of the kind.

"Won't he sense it?" Sam frowned and shuffled his feet against the forest floor impatiently. "Us disappearing off the face of the earth, I mean?"

"It's possible," Tobius admitted, opening the trunk and pulling out our supply of holy water. "But Bobby feels the risk is minimal. And in any case, John can't just materialise like an incorporeal demon. He needs a human host and a means to travel. Those limitations should buy us some time."

We can hope, I guess. But I wasn't convinced this was going to work. Still, it was worth a shot and we had nothing better to do until we hit Canada.

"Alrighty then," I wrapped an arm round Sam's shoulders and watched Sire begin to pour the water all over my baby, starting with the hood. He muttered low in his throat, words I couldn't hear and wouldn't have been able to understand anyhow, and as he did so, the holy water took on a weird blue sheen.

Tobius carried on, unconcerned. He'd clearly been warned about this.

And boy. Sam sure wasn't wrong about needing patience.

The strange ritual went on for one very long and very boring hour before anything else happened.

I yawned.

Yawned again.

Shuffled from foot to foot.

Checked my Rolex more than once.

_Boring._

Another watch check.

_Boring._

Another yawn.

_Dying of boredom here…_

You get the picture? I was about to crack.

_Oh for the love of God, please tell me you're nearly finished!_

Tobius smirked but carried on chanting. _Do we really want another conversation about patience being a virtue?_

"Screw virtue! What's happening? Is it working?" Sam tugged on my elbow, anxiously. Poor kid was already running on a limited supply of patience so he was worse off than any of us.

"Uh…" I muttered, eyes widening, because something _was_ happening.

At fucking last.

The sheen began to shimmer and turn into a full on glow, and a low hum built up like a pylon gaining electric charge.

"Dean!" Sam was shaking my entire arm, desperate to know what was going on.

"Yeah, I think it's working, Sammy." Knowing that wasn't enough for my curious _brotherson_, I began to describe the strange scene in detail. "Tobius just drowned the Impala in holy water, from bumper to bumper, and as soon as he started chanting that spell, the water… whoa!"

I lifted a hand to shield my eyes and turned my head away when the glow burst into a bright, retina popping display of light, and the electric charge crackled around the forest.

Tobius presumably reacted the same way because he halted the incantation for a few seconds, then resumed the chant.

"What happened?" Sam insisted, like a little kid pestering for candy.

"I think my hair is standing on end," I mumbled, feeling a little overwhelmed. "If I'd known holy water could do that I'd have saved a fortune on 4th of July fireworks that year, huh?"

"Dean!" growled Sam. "Did it work?"

As I stared at the Impala, and Sire finally reached the end of the incantation, my baby swum out of sight for a few seconds, then reappeared as though nothing had happened.

"I guess so," I whispered back.

I vaguely heard Sam give a huff of frustration as I walked around the car, examining her for burn marks or scratches, feeling highly relieved when I didn't find a thing.

"So." Tobius smiled. "Canada here we come…"

I spent the rest of the journey gazing out at the landscape, watching the forests thicken and the canopies become steadily loaded with snow. It reminded me of happier times spent with the Home Pack, the nomadic non-lunar werewolves we'd befriended during our recent adventures before the battle at Mont Noir.

I cast a glance at Sam's wistful smile. No doubt, all kinds of smells were triggering his own set of memories of the happy-go-lucky wolf pack.

_Wish we could be with them, guys. I'm worried. Supposing Da… John goes after them, just out of spite?_

_Don't worry, pup, _Tobius reassured his grandson. _Lucas has taken his pack and the werebears deep into protected territory. And with a few tricks I passed on from Bobby, even your famous Navy SEALS would have a hard time finding them all. We'll catch up with them, one day. When this is all over._

I nearly snorted. _Yeah. One day. That sounds real promising._

Tobius frowned at me in the rear-view mirror. _It's not like you to cloak yourself in such pessimism, Dean._

Sam shifted slightly in his seat, half turning towards me, awaiting my response.

With a small sigh, I shrugged. _Not pessimism, as such. I guess I'm just getting sick of all this. I want to go back to the way things were before all this shit started up. Before Jake, and Meg… _I gave another shrug. _I'm sick of running for our lives. Time was, the enemy was running for __**their**__ lives… __**away**__ from us! Now it feels like all we do is retreat._

Sire stayed silent for a moment, but a twitch at the corner of his mouth suggested he was fighting a grin.

_He who fights and runs away…_he intoned, wisely.

_Lives to __**run**__ another day. _Sam and I finished off, chuckling softly.

_Discretion is the better part of valour, cowardice is the better part of discretion…_Sam added with a small grin, getting into the spirit of the discussion.

_Therefore, I valiantly run away, _I murmured with snort. _Jeez, yeah, I know._

"Where on _earth_ did he come from?" Tobius suddenly snapped out, eyes darting back and forth between his side mirror and the windshield.

"Where did who come from?" asked Sam, nervously.

I glanced behind out the rear window, saw the flashing lights and my heart sank.

"Ah, shit! It's the cops."

The annoying whine of a siren blared out briefly, and followed us off the road.

Sire rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. "We might have to get a little rough with the poor chap if he insists on detaining us for any reason."

We all kept facing the front, and stayed absolutely still. The crunch of heavy boots on the road had Sam twitching a little. Must have been pretty frustrating and scary, not able to see or predict what was going to happen next.

I tightened my arm around his shoulders. _Easy, Sam._

But what followed was a complete revelation, and secured a little more confidence in our future.

The cop drew level with Tobius, tipped his hat in greeting and leaned down to look through the window.

"Evening, M'am," he said, friendly enough, eyes searching the rear of the car, probably out of habit.

Sam and I glanced at each other in surprise, Tobius eyes widened.

_M'am?_

But there were more surprises on the way. The cop's gaze swept right over us. Guy ignored us completely, as though we weren't even there.

"No need for alarm," the guy continued. "We're expecting some pretty harsh weather up here in a few hours. Might be best you turn off to the nearest town and wait it out. Roads'll clear up a little in a few days."

Sam nodded slowly and nudged me.

_Bobby's incantation doubled as a glamour spell. That cop can't see us, and he thinks Tobius is a girl._

Tobius, to his credit, recovered quickly. I half expected him to put on a woman's voice.

"Thank you, officer, but w… I won't be stopping," he covered his slip so smoothly only an ear experienced in the ways of Le Salle might have noticed. "I have to be in Canada fairly urgently for medical reasons."

Thank God he didn't put on a woman's voice. That might just have been my undoing. I wasn't sure how that glamour thingy worked, but if Tobius had pulled a Life of Brian, they'd have heard me laughing down in Florida.

The cop, a young guy, fairly innocent and obviously keen about his duties, gave Tobius a small salute and tipped his hat again.

"In that case, I won't keep you," he patted the roof, gently. "Good luck, m'am, and stay safe now. Make sure you drive slowly round those mountain passes. These old Buicks don't corner too good."

I started in angry shock. But we were all saved from me giving the game away by Sam ramming his elbow gently into my open mouth.

_Dean, calm down!_

_He called the Impala a Buick, Sammy! He called it a piece of shit** Buick! **What the hell has Bobby turned my baby into?_

Tobius was clearly having a hard time keeping a straight face but nodded his thanks to the cop, and carefully pulled the car away from the curb.

Once we'd put a safe distance between us and Mr Friendly, Sam removed his elbow and started laughing.

_S'not funny, Sam! Bobby turned my car into a crap-heap fucking **Buick!**_

Sam snorted and practically choked on his laughter._ It's a __**glamour**__ spell. It only __**looks**__ like a Buick from the outside, but she's still the Impala. Feel it, Dean?_

His hand felt its way along the seat until he could tap the ashtray, fingers gently brushing an old army man still wedged inside from when Sammy was six, bored and playful.

_It must have taken a few minutes to cloak her true form._

I checked around me, nodding slowly. From what I could see, it was still my baby. Even a glance out the windshield showed me that this was no Buick. My heart began to settle down and I relaxed back into my seat.

Nerves now coming back under control, it was time for some Sire-baiting.

"So, Sire," I grinned.

He gave me a look that said he knew what was coming and he was dreading it.

I didn't disappoint.

"Never heard of an alpha bitch, dude. You sure you ain't holding out on us?"

Tobius' only tell was a slight clenching of his jaw.

"They occur, just not often," he remarked, pleasantly. "By the way, there's still enough of Bobby's mojo left over," he glanced over his shoulder at me with a peaceful smile. "As Vicky no doubt informed you, female betas do exist."

An eyebrow rose in challenge.

Laughing out loud, I shook my head. "No thanks. Women are insane."

"They'd have to be," snorted Sam. "No _sane_ woman would sleep with you!"

"Right! That's it!" I launched across the seat and took my _brotherson_ down.

There wasn't much space in the backseat for a real full on wrestling match, but I made that work to my advantage. Sammy must have been really tired because after only a few seconds of scuffling, in which Sire called out "would you mind awfully _not_ banging against my seatback?" I held the kid in a tight headlock.

"Dean!" Sam struggled, but with his gigantor body trapped in such a small space, he found it almost impossible to gain any leverage to throw me off.

"You know what's coming, Sam," I shifted my grip a little when I heard him choke; anxious I might have been to keep him under restraint – guy's huge, after all - the last thing I wanted was to hurt him. Our play fights are rough, sure, but we never deliberately hurt each other. "Are ya ready?"

Sam pawed frantically at my arms. Experience had taught him what was coming and it wasn't going to be pleasant.

"NO… don't you dare, DEAN…"

I raised a finger to my mouth.

"Stop it! You know I hate that!"

I licked the finger, giving it a good ol'wash, making loud, disgusting sucking noises in the process. Sam shook his head from side to side, desperately trying to escape.

I pulled it from my mouth with a wet pop.

"C'mon, Dean," Sam tried a last minute, desperate plea of reason, but unfortunately took it too far. "You wouldn't do that to a _blind_ guy, now, wouldja?"

I paused for effect.

"Aw Sammy. Shouldn't have said that, dude," then plunged my finger into the shell of his ear, swiping it round and reaching in to tickle the fine hairs further down.

"Noooooo…._eeeewwwwww!_"

Despite Sam's disgust, I still heard the underlying laughter he was trying so hard to reign in.

Tobius shook his head, chuckling. "The old ones are always the best, eh Dean?"

I just grinned and carried on tormenting my squirming little _brotherson_, until the both of us collapsed, exhausted from our play fight. I glanced down into Sam's sleepy face, and noted the ears sliding up the side of his head, the red fur and slowly developing snout.

"Get some sleep, kiddo," I whispered, running a hand through his fur. Fully wolfed out, Sam grumbled his approval and nosed his way into my neck, huffing warm breath down my shirt, and his soft whiskers tickling my chin.

No way was I _ever_ using the word 'adorable' out loud, Sammy and Sire would never let me live it down, but you get the picture, right?

I joined him in the change, the two of us curled up together for warmth and safety, and we stayed that way until the next stop.

Which turned out to be a snowdrift.

What fun.

After three hours of travelling, followed by a large patch of inconveniently placed ice, we were stood on the roadside, staring in dismay at the Impala-Buick, the front end of which had disappeared under an appalling amount of snow. Several attempts to lever the car out of the drift had failed.

I guess when shit decides to happen it takes its job seriously.

"Oh dear," Sire muttered, blandly.

I was surprisingly calm. Looking back, I guess it's possible I'd gone into shock. What lay under the snow drift didn't look like _my _baby. It looked like a Buick. But I _knew_ it was still technically my baby. Once we got out of the car, the glamour spell worked its wonders on us, too, so the Impala was disguised even from me. So yeah, I was calm.

But I had one bitch of a headache just thinking about it.

Sam padded over to the drift, jammed his snout into the snow, and took a good long sniff.

_It's clean. Blown here naturally. No one set an ambush._ Blue green eyes, still slightly tinted with silver, glowed strangely against the backdrop of the pure white snow. _It was totally an accident. And judging by the look of that ice back there? _He raised his snout again and used it to gesture to the road behind. _Completely unavoidable._

An ambush wasn't a likely prospect anyway, given that the car had slid off the road _into_ the snow drift, but Sammy wasn't one to leave anything to chance. So after everything we've been through, finally we'd fallen victim to a plain, good old fashioned accident, despite Sire's careful driving in treacherous conditions.

_In that case, _Sire replied, heading to the trunk and popping the lid. _Let's get digging._

Sam stayed in wolf form so he could see what he was doing, and dug away at the snow with his powerful paws. Tobius and I grabbed a shovel each, and took up position on opposite sides of the drift.

"Just remember!" I called out, sternly. "Be careful with that damn thing. Just one scratch and I'll hide your brandy!"

Tobius snorted loudly. "Just get on with it, pup. Let's not stand here all bloody night, eh? Got better things to do than let the grass grow under us!"

We began digging, great shovelfuls of snow piling up behind us. Sammy seemed to disappear into the hole he made, and it was pretty funny hearing the doggy grunts and pants of exertion as snow flew up and out in all directions. Funny, that is, until some of it trickled down towards me, and only added to my workload.

_Uh, Sammy? Why don't you stay back and keep watch, huh?_

The sound of digging stopped and Sam's snow covered snout appeared over the crest of his hole, and surveyed my sector of snow clearance.

_What? Oh. Ok._

He padded off to the rear and sat down at the edge of road, while I carried on digging.

Sire seemed to make good progress and already had the driver's half of the hood uncovered. The side I was digging out was more of a chore, the snow a little deeper, the wheels embedded in some kind of icy puddle.

Great.

"Uh, Tobius? I'm gonna need a little more help here. Wheel's stuck."

Sire huffed out a laugh.

"You youngsters, honestly!" he shook his head. "Sam? Would you mind getting into the driver's seat and changing? We'll try pushing her backwards if you can just steer it, left hand down… Sam?"

My head shot up when I heard a note of concern creep into Sire's voice.

_Sammy?_

Nothing. Absolute silence. Road couldn't have been more clichéd-empty if a patch of tumbleweed had rolled on by.

_Sammy, where the hell are you?_

We both scrambled back to the roadside, eyes scanning the ground, calling for the kid in our thoughts.

"Sire, look!"

I pointed to the tyre marks in the ice and slush. Sam's huge paws had left their prints, but there had been someone else there.

Tobius and I sniffed the air frantically.

_Sam! Are you here, pup?_

Someone with no scent.

_Sammy?_

There were the smallest signs of a struggle. Sam hadn't gone willingly.

_God! How could this happen?_ I fumed, angry, scared and about ready to rip something or someone to pieces. _He was right there, for fuck sake! Not ten feet away from us!_

_Calm down, son, _Sire, as usual, kept his cool successfully, but I could sense the tension drumming through him. _We need to keep our heads to figure this out. Time is of the essence. The longer it takes us, the slimmer our chances of finding Sam…_

'Alive'. That was the missing word.

The slimmer our chances of finding Sam 'alive'.

Tobius didn't want to freak me out any further, but I knew what he was saying, and he was right. Time to put my well practiced game face back on, and let the hunt for my little _brotherson _take priority.

Between us, Sire and I scoured the surrounding area for the slightest clue.

Whoever, or _what_ever, had taken him from us must have been hellish strong, because Sammy hadn't even cried out for help. He'd barely had time to put up much of a fight, from what we could tell.

Sire was staring closely at Sam's paw prints.

"There's another set here," he looked up at me, frowning. "It was a werewolf."

Sire stood up and stared out into the night.

"A werewolf with no scent, and Sam couldn't thought project his peril," he whispered. "We've come across someone like this before."

It was years ago, and the guy was dead. So, if Sam had been taken by another one just like him, then he was in real trouble.

We briefly went through all the possible scenarios in our heads, trying to understand how this came about, what Sam's kidnapper planned to do with the kid.

There was only one real conclusion we could come to.

I got the strange feeling we'd been herded here in some way, ridiculous as that sounds.

But one thing was evident: somehow, in spite of all the spells and holy water, we'd been found.

_**TBC**_

_**Just in case I've missed anyone, thanks for all your wonderful reviews and support.**_

_**Happy New Year for midnight, one and all!**_

_**Love and hugs,**_

_**ST, ST's husband, and Nelson (the big, black, overgrown puppydog).**_


	3. Chapter 3

Hunter of the Shadows Book 3 Chapter 3 Final draft. Page 17

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 3**

_**Now…**_

"**So, yeah, things got a little off track," says Dean, still staring at Sam.**

**The kid rolls his head to the side, as though sensing his _fatherbrother's_ scrutiny, grumbles quietly in his sleep, and settles back down with a light snore.**

"**Sam was missing, presumed kidnapped by a non-lunar out for some kind of revenge, possibly for Archy's death," Dean shrugged. "Turned out, the reasons weren't nearly so noble, and we really should've guessed. Archy's class of non-lunar really don't have any conscience at all…"**

_**Then…**_

A few tufts of fur, a foot print, and a broken branch or two off the other side of the road told us that although the assailant was fast, they weren't blessed with teleportation skills.

Sire had tried activating the homing device on his Rolex but nothing came up, not one blip. Either Sam's own Rolex had been destroyed or the kid was so far away by now that he was out of range.

However, Sam had managed to leave some kind of trail for us to follow, but it wasn't much.

His scent was a pretty major clue at first. It lingered at the edge of the forest, but then disappeared under a cloud of sweet smelling herbs that dissipated out and contaminated the entire area for at least a couple of miles radius.

But, the real big clue? No thought projections. And there hadn't been any at the time Sam was taken either. Surely, he would have tried to call out to us by thought when he was attacked?

"It's a non-lunar, but not of our classification," Tobius announced with an angry scowl. "Clever, cunning, lethal, and absolutely no conscience whatsoever."

We'd come across one during our first Christmas at the cabin, when Sam was just a small puppy, not long after his first change.

Archimedes, an old acquaintance of Sire's, was a psychopath in the truest sense of the word. He'd conned a human alchemist into providing him with a concoction to cover his scent, then brutally snapped the poor sucker's neck once he'd fulfilled his purpose.

Archy, as Sire sometimes called him – among other more elemental names, such as murdering bastard, wanker, and tosspot – had managed to trick his way past Tobius, and get into the cabin to successfully subdue Sam and me. He'd wanted revenge against Tobius for killing his own kind, in what his mind passed as justice for murdering fellow members of a superior race. Archy, himself, over the course of around two hundred years, had left a trail of human bodies scattered carelessly across the globe in a killing spree to make even the most avid serial killer cream himself with jealousy. Sire had once spent many years hunting him, to no avail when the sonofabitch disappeared in the Middle East.

But, it all came to a head that night in the cabin when Archy made the mistake of stabbing Sam in the gut. He'd been aiming for the kid's heart but Sam got lucky enough to roll out of the way a little, despite being gagged and bound.

Kid nearly died right in front of me and I, also chained so tightly I couldn't move, was helpless to stop it, but I could smell the blade.

It was silver.

Archy became a hypocrite, as well as a brutal killer, in one very stupid move; stabbing a young werewolf, right in front of his grandfather and _fatherbrother. _And it was a move he ultimately paid for with his life.

In the most savage display I have ever witnessed, even to this day, Sire went berserk and tore into the other non-lunar.

Literally.

He ripped out eyes, guts, organs… and devoured the heart, piece by bloody pulsing piece, until Archy was no longer moving. The non-lunar's face was unrecognisable by the time Sire had finished with it, mainly because he'd eaten that too. What can I say? He's a growing boy.

Following a thorough salt and burn, Christmas was spent in Sire's five star hotel hundreds of miles away, while a team of discreet decorators got to work on cleaning up the cabin. By the time we got back there some weeks later, there was no sign that anything so hideous could have gone down. Just as well. Sammy was nervous enough about going back in that place.

But, well, that cabin was our home in the mountains, and there were way too many good memories to let the bad ones spoil it for us.

But one memory stood out like a sore thumb.

Archy was a particular type of non-lunar. His thought projections were on a different wavelength, and his completely interfered with and obliterated ours.

The upshot being, we couldn't thought project at all to each other when he was in the room, unless he allowed it. It mostly something that just happened naturally around Type Ones, but Archy had demonstrated to Sire that he had a certain limited amount of control over it when he thought projected to Tobius out in the forest.

Guess we now knew what we were dealing with here.

And it terrified the living shit out of us.

Tobius and I glanced back at the Impala-Buick, silent and watchful from where it sat, half buried in the snow.

"The glamour spell should hold out for a few more days," Sire finally muttered, and unbuttoned his jacket. "But we can't risk it being found and towed."

I nodded sharply. "Let's hide her away, then."

Between us, we managed to wheel her off the road and into a thick stand of trees.

Tobius grabbed the camouflage tarpaulin we kept in the trunk for just such purposes and wrapped my baby up nice and tight. A few strategically placed tree branches, a scattering of clean snow and some pine cones, and you wouldn't have guessed there was a big car hidden nearby.

We swiped away snowy tire tracks and foot prints with our hands and feet, then backtracked carefully off the road, watching our surroundings with suspicion. Our clothes were dealt with next, folded neatly inside large, plastic Ziploc bags, and hidden under a long dead tree stump, well out of sight should the car be discovered.

"Just one thing left to do," Tobius held up another Ziploc bag, filled with herbs.

Next step was to disguise our own scent. We couldn't know for sure if it would work on other types of non-lunar. In fact, the stuff was normally used for cloaking our scent from vampires. But after much experimentation and tweaking over the years, we did now know that it worked on our own kind. Always handy to disguise one's scent from a non-lunar stray, after all.

But Archy's kind? No idea.

We were flying by the seat of our furry asses, but we had no choice.

"It's a shame I didn't keep any of that stuff Archy had made especially by his alchemist 'friend'," said Tobius, with regret. "But, then, it wouldn't have done us much good, given all that blood, I suppose."

Sire tipped the herbs all over the forest floor, and stuffed the bag under the tree along with our clothes.

Without another word, just a nod, Sire changed, and I followed.

After a quick roll in the herbs, like a couple of over-grown puppies at play, we took off on the hunt.

We hadn't chosen to stay silent by any means, but I guess we were immersed so deep in our worries over Sam's safety and well being that we worked on auto-pilot. A series of well established instinctive procedures came into play, practiced to perfection long ago, and we were suddenly running through the trees, deeper and deeper into the forest.

We didn't know for certain where Sam had been taken, but our internal homing devices – _pack, family - _guided us through those treacherous early hours since his abduction. And even though that sweet, herbal covering scent still lingered, we fancied that we could still smell Sam, and sense his trail.

Things soon got tougher. I had hoped for more broken twigs or branches, the occasional depression in the snow, or flattened tufts of grass, anything we could lay our paws on, but _nada_. And without the scent, we were impotent.

We became confused, sometimes outright lost, and ran round in wide sweeping circles trying to regain lost time. Sam's kidnapper sure was super smart and fast with it, able to traverse the snow covered ground leaving no trace behind him.

We were losing it. Losing time, losing our sense of direction… and worst of all, losing Sam.

When we were about seven or eight miles away from the road, Tobius skidded to a halt and sniffed at the ground.

_Dean, stop._

Paws scrabbling lightly against the soft snow, I padded over to him.

_What is it?_

_Look!_

The forest canopy was much denser here, so the ground was mostly shielded from the snow. Half buried under a pile of dead leaves, a small plastic syringe with a wicked looking hypodermic needle still attached, mocked us.

Tobius lowered his head and sniffed cautiously around it.

_Hmm. No doubt Sam was forced into a change... _he sniffed deeply between half-sentences..._then he was drugged with Wolf's Bane to keep him in human form. But... there's __**another**__ scent here. Some other kind of drug, a sedative perhaps...but I'm not sure... I just can't place it! _

Tobius sounded as frustrated as I felt.

I snorted angrily. Someone had drugged my _brotherson_ causing a change, against his will, into a form that left him sightless and vulnerable.

The sonofabitch was gonna pay dearly for that.

_Well, it certainly explains how he was able to subdue Sam so easily. And, it appears we're now on the right track after all that dilly-dallying around,_ Tobius mused, and nodded his head, beckoning me onwards. _Evidently, this particular non-lunar is very old, extremely cunning, and highly ruthless to boot._

_How do you know that? _I asked, as we continued through a thinned out patch of trees and rocky terrain.

Tobius top lip curled with a soft growl. _Bastard got past me, didn't he?_

Neither of us was laughing. The man had way too much of a point there.

We sniffed frantically up and down that particular stretch of trail, and found nothing. Frustration mounting, I padded around, head hung low, eyes narrowed and growling angrily.

_How are we gonna track them? _

I was beginning to panic. The only clue we had to go on was one lousy syringe, and that wasn't going to be enough.

_Still the old fashioned way, I'm afraid, _Tobius replied, and halted suddenly, staring at something else on the forest floor. _But it's not so tough, after all. Whoever took Sam is getting cocky and careless already. See?_

I peered at the ground. It was just rocks and pine needles, and a few pine cones. One of which was recently crushed, possibly by deer or bear…

_Oh._

A freshly crushed pine cone.

Someone had recently come this way bearing a heavy load. It was a long shot, but had to be worth a try and, besides, other than that stupid syringe, it was all we had.

I'll save you the quiet, tense journey over the Canadian borders, and hundreds of miles across the mountains. Nothing much happened, except we found a few more clues, some we think were being deliberately left by Sam, but these stopped abruptly a little while later. Sire figured the kidnapper had realised what the kid was up to, and 'subdued' him again. Not that it mattered. The non-lunar assailant had become increasingly sloppy in the time we'd been tailing him.

Just like Archy. For all his smarts and cunning, like all non-lunars of his classification, Archy was astoundingly arrogant. He'd underestimated Sire's strength, speed and, most importantly, passion and love for his family. As I already explained, that little mistake cost Archy his life in an extremely painful and, above all, hideous manner.

Call it lady luck, call it what you will, but it seemed this clown was no different.

Even the sweet, herbal disguising scent had faded out around two hundred miles after the point of Sam's abduction. The guy really thought he was in the clear.

His scent mingled with Sam's sweat and blood, hinting at a combination of smells such as pine, nutmeg and cloves.

_Steady now, _Tobius murmured in my head, sniffing the air furiously.

_Yeah,_ I answered, anxiously. _Not far from here. 'Nother fifty miles, maybe?_

_Possibly closer,_ Sire pawed at the ground, lowered his head and sniffed again.

Sam's scent was getting stronger, but so was the sharp tang of his blood. Sire spent some time trying to reassure me that there wasn't enough to associate with injury, but was quite possibly from the use of more hypodermic needles.

Great. More drugs.

My tail drooped, despondently. _We don't even know if he's alive._

Tobius snorted and shook his head. _They took him for a reason. Why go to all that trouble if they're just going to kill him? No. Sam was taken for a specific purpose, _he stopped as if considering that, then added _and if John Winchester has anything to do with it, my guess is humanisation with demon blood._

_Oh thanks, _I grumbled. _That's makes me feel so much better!_

_It's better than dead, wouldn't you agree? _Sire said, eyes gleaming in the darkness. There was a faint trace of anger in his tone, and I guess I couldn't blame him for that.

I was being a whiny, pessimistic little brat and it must have been getting on his nerves.

As for _humanising _Sam? How would that affect us?

I would still love Sam if he were human. There's no doubt about that. Neither Tobius nor I would ostracise him from the pack. If anything, we'd drive him crazy with trying all the harder to protect him, especially if he was still blind.

But what would it do to Sammy? Losing his place as my _brotherson_, Tobius' grandson? Losing _woolfhood?_

The answer seemed obvious to me.

My God, it would kill him.

_Come on, my son,_ Tobius nuzzled into my ear, licked the shell gently, and then snuffled deeply into the thick fur of my neck. _We won't find Sam standing here and panicking like a fart in a trance._

_Sire! _I was shocked and my head snapped up, clonking him on the bottom jaw. I eyed him suspiciously. _Are you even allowed to say stuff like that as Alpha?_

Tobius appeared to grin, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, ears twitching forward, then announced in the finest upper class English accent:

_Fuck, bollocks, shit, wank, arse. _A kind of casual doggy-shrug followed before he added: _I _was_ in the SAS for fifteen years. It's practically a second language. What precisely did you expect?_

I felt put out, yet couldn't say why. _Just sounds weird coming from you, ya know?_

There came that grin again. _I find it encouraging that even at my ripe old age I'm still capable of surprising you, young pup._

His whiskers twitched.

It took a second for it to dawn on me.

All the while we'd been bickering, Sire had us on the move again, pushing through the thick forests, tracking our boy, and I hadn't even noticed. Tobius had effectively taken my mind off the steadily growing panic, and given my dismal attitude a damn good shake down.

Crafty bastard.

_That's more like it,_ he said, bumping my shoulder with his approvingly. _Now, let's go find our pup._

The forest canopy continued to shelter us from freshly falling snow as we plodded onwards, watching carefully for anymore signs.

Both our hearts were to crack a little more over the next few hours.

Clearly, Sam's abductor had met up with a few rather more cautious colleagues, because that sweet, herbal, scent cloud began to fill our nostrils and once again disrupted the trail. But, as they were now part of a much larger travelling party, the pace had slowed right down, and they were making mistakes.

We caught the scent of burning pine and cooked meat, venison if I was any judge, and the sounds of voices drifted towards us on the cold night air.

As we crept closer, the voices became more intelligible. Deep, men's voices, harsh and callous, the sound of someone, a _female_ someone in distress, was followed by a sharp cry of pain.

Laughter rang out, echoing round the forest. It wasn't a pleasant sound.

Ahead of us, the ground sloped upwards, and we crawled silently on our bellies, until we reached the very top. It was like a lip in the earth, curled up and over like a frozen wave, and right beneath us was a small clearing. It was currently being used as a camping ground for three men, who were busy torturing a young woman chained to a tree.

Nearby, the fire blazed merrily away, a whole stag, complete with antlers, was being roasted on a spit above it, dripping hot fat into the flames. A few flakes of snow drifted down, challenging the warmth of the fire, but they were no match for the flames and soon melted away before even reaching the ground.

It should have smelt delicious, but right then I just felt too sick to appreciate it.

Because, the woman wasn't the only one restrained. Two young boys, angelic blond hair burnished gold by the firelight, sat dead, throats and hearts ripped out by the looks of them, chained to the tree right next to hers.

My eyes scanned the area for Sammy. _Oh God, Sire…_

I tensed, about to spring to my paws, but Tobius nudged me. I stared at him and he shook his head slightly.

No thought projections.

At least one person in that clearing was a non-lunar like Archy, a Type One, the most murderous and dangerous variety, on a par with Type Two – _our_ variety – except _they_ completely lack a social conscience. That's the only reason we're big pussycats compared to the Type One. The Type One is a psychotic, blood thirsty, killing machine.

"… are you going to fight for us, little one?" a voice called out, softly, and I looked down into the clearing again.

"No… please…" the woman whimpered in distress. She tried to shift away, but the chains held her too tight to the tree. I could see her desperate gaze flitting around the clearing, too frightened to look at her Type One captor, but too horror-struck to look at the dead children.

No. That wasn't right. She wasn't struck with horror, as such.

Try grief.

They were_ her _children in some way, no doubt.

Not much older than eleven or twelve, the two youngsters hung in their chains, dripping with their own blood, silenced forever. My heart felt like it was trying to pound its way out of my chest, and I could hear Tobius' own attempts to breathe deep and slow.

"Don't you _want_ to fight? Just for us?" the Type One crooned softly, knelt down in front of her and raised a hand. It morphed into a large paw, the claws gleaming with tacky, drying blood. His tongue slid up around the appendage, licking, cleaning and preening, almost like a cat, and I caught the gleam of eyes in the firelight, glowing a deep cherry red, the classic colour for the non lunar Type One. It kind of matched their sadistic, volatile nature.

Then the bastard leaned in and whispered something to his victim.

"Just fucking do it, you murdering sonofabitch!" the woman suddenly screamed, defiantly, her own eyes glowing a deep blue, and she yanked bravely at the chains like a fierce warrior, overcome by her grief as it burned its way into anger. I recognised the look of a parent who, in that moment, would willingly follow her children to the grave and no longer gave a damn about the journey.

_How_ she got there was irrelevant, so long as she _did _get there.

Tobius nudged me again, a little more forcefully this time.

I turned to stare at him, but he was already belly-crawling back down the slope. I had no option but to follow.

As soon as we were safely hidden away in darkness, Tobius changed to human form and I wasted no time in doing the same. Before I could move or even open my mouth, he gripped my head, pulling it down so his mouth was right up close to my ear, hot breath rewarming the rapidly cooling tips now they were no longer sheltered by fur.

"I imagine Sam is on the other side of the camp, no doubt along with several others," he breathed. "I suspect the woman and her boys tried one too many escape attempts, and this is the price they paid."

He didn't give me a chance to comment, just carried on breathing into my ear.

"This is a fight arena for captive wolves, Dean, where the contestants have no choice but to participate, or they die. Chances are they'll die anyway. It is a sport highly sought after by rich, bored non-lunars, and these Type One thugs are probably in the employ of the members of an extremely old and wealthy pack. Fight arenas were outlawed by all the major non-lunar pack alphas centuries ago for being barbaric, but there were a few that survived by going underground, funded by the rich and powerful. Much like the Gladiators of Roman times, and the human fight clubs of the modern age, in fact."

Trying my hardest not to vomit, I digested that with some difficulty and then turned my head slightly to breathe into Sire's ear.

"Then why Sam? Surely they've figured out by now that he's blind? The silver in his eyes is a dead giveaway."

Tobius shook his head and breathed again. "That I'm not sure about. It could be that they didn't realise it at the time – after all, his eyes are almost normal in wolf form, until the light catches them just right - or, more likely, they took him for another, entirely unrelated purpose."

Like if they were working for John as a sideline. Yeah, the more I thought about it, the more I realised that idea wasn't beyond the realms of possibility. But even so, it still seemed unlikely.

"Ok, enough with the theories already," I muttered. "So, how do we get to Sammy?"

Tobius raised a finger to his lips. "In a word: Diversion. As soon as you hear the signal, get to Sam. Don't wait, just go. No matter what happens, get the hell away from here as fast as you can."

I didn't like the sound of that, but there wasn't much I could do about it. The thought of abandoning the Alpha made my heart clench with fear, but there was no guarantee that, when I eventually found him, Sam would be in any state for us to go back and help Tobius.

Sire whispered a few more instructions in my ear, confirmed the directions we were both supposed to take, and I nodded my understanding.

We both changed, listened intently in the darkness of the trees, hearing that mockingly soft voice, taunting the poor, grieving she-wolf over her murdered sons. I swore to myself that I would come back for them someday, and lay her wolf-pups to rest with all the dignity they truly deserved.

Sire shifted from paw to paw, lowered his head, and stalked silently towards the clearing, up the slope, onto the lip, until he stood, proud and magnificent, black and tan fur lit up by the camp fire beneath him. He raised his head and opened his massive jaws.

It started low, like a deep rumble you can barely hear, just makes you feel uncomfortable, like its playing footsy with your bowels, or something. Then it rose slowly up the scale, like a World War II air raid siren winding up to a full on, eardrum bursting. Then it gained force and power, until it became a blood-chilling howl that caused the surrounding trees to shake all the snow from their limbs.

I kid you not, boys and girls, I wouldn't have believed it myself if I hadn't been there.

And that was my cue.

I got a nasty feeling in my gut, as I bounded silently through the forest, going around the slope rather than up it, aiming for the rear of the camp. A small part of me felt a little sorry for those Type Ones. If Sire's encounter with Archy was anything to go by, their deaths wouldn't be easy, or pretty.

But when I found out what they did to Sam, I assure you, my sympathies did _not_ linger.

_**TBC...**_

**I know Sam is missing in this chapter but it was necessary to set the scene for the next one, where he shall return! **

**Though I'm not promising what kind of state he'll be in (i.e. not good!).**

**Please remember that I've never been to Canada so my geography and landscape knowledge is next to non-existent. I am merely using my over-active imagination combined with a few episodes I've watched from Frozen Planet (The BBC version). In other words, I made it up. LOL!**

**Many thanks for all your wonderful reviews so far.**

**Please continue to review or Sammy, Dean and Tobius will be really upset with you. I mean it. Sam will pout, Dean will frown and call you a lazy bastard and, perhaps most worrying of all, Tobius will _raise an eyebrow at you!_**

**You have been warned.**

**Love and hugs,**

**ST xxx**

Author: Skag Trendy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 4**

_**Now…**_

**Something black and wet is pressed up against the lens. **

**It snorts and snuffles, blurring the view for a second with warm, damp air, then it backs away to reveal a set of beautiful wide, glowing, blue-green eyes and a big red snout. The young wolf cocks his head adorably to one side, long pink tongue lolling out his wide, grinning mouth, licks his chops and gives out a soft _woof._**

**_Hi, _he seems to say. **

**With another swift lick of the chops, the wolf sits back on his haunches, as though satisfied he has our attention. His tail thumps the floor with enthusiasm and his grin seems to widen. **

**_Yeah, I know I'm beautiful. You don't have to keep on telling me._ **

**The youngster flops down and rolls onto his back invitingly, waggling his rear from side to side, rubbing it against the carpet. **

_**Now stop with the flattery and rub my belly!**_

"**Sam!" Dean's voice can be heard, sounding a little echoey, like it's coming from the bathroom or something. "Quit messin' around and get ready for bed. I gotta journal entry to make and you're wearing down the damn battery again!"**

**Sam huffs in disappointment and rises slowly. One huge rear paw comes up to scratch at an ear, and he closes his eyes in sheer bliss.**

**Dean appears from the left, a towel slung low on his hips, his hair dripping water everywhere. When he spots the camera and the red wolf sitting in front of it, he rolls his eyes in amusement.**

"**You can't thought project to a camera, Sammy," he says, drying off with another towel.**

**Sam lets loose a tiny petulant growl and huffs again. If he were in human form, he'd be sitting in a sulk with his arms folded.**

**Dean shakes his head. "Ok, _Wolf Body Language_, then, but I'm telling ya, dude, it won't work. Humans can't read us like that."**

**Sam glances at the camera, appears to _wink_ at the digital audience, then turns and nods his head in mock defeat.**

"**You know I'm right," Dean replies to his _brotherson's_ apparent capitulation, and tenderly ruffles the thick fur by Sam's ears.**

**Dean is instantly forgiven for his smugness, and Sam grumbles deep in his throat, pushing his head into his _fatherbrother's _hand.**

"**So," still stroking Sam's soft fur, Dean settles on his bed, facing the camera. "I guess you guys wanna hear the rest? I'm warning you; it's about to get _interesting_…"**

_**Then…**_

I kept on moving forward through the trees, getting further from the camp and sniffing the air. All I caught was the pungent scent of silver.

Dread, like thick, hot molasses, settled in my gut.

This was going to be bad.

Shadows flicked on by me as I dismissed them one by one from my search. Snow dusted trees, fallen logs, bushes, none of them contained a Sammy shaped figured.

But after another five minutes, a shadow loomed ahead that I couldn't just dismiss so easily. It was around the length of the impala and about as high. As I got closer, keeping silent, my paws treading lightly, it revealed itself as a manmade, wooden structure, and the smell of silver was terrifyingly strong here.

I stood stock still when I realised what it was.

It was a cage with wooden bars coated in hardened silver, and housing around twenty to thirty scared, young werewolves, all huddled together. At best guess, the youngest was no older than six, the oldest around my age. And they all looked dazed, bruised, beaten, and half starved.

_Sammy? _I called out, but got the distinct impression nothing was getting through.

No answer.

I had to be careful. Perhaps there were Type Ones in the cage, blocking my thought projections, though it was doubtful. Type One and Two do _not_ get along, and to imprison them together would have resulted in blood shed, and death.

No. It meant a Type One was nearby, possibly guarding the captives.

_Dammit!_

It was time to change. There was no other way to help these kids.

Quietly and quickly as possible, I changed into human form and crouched by the cage, feeling unaccountably more naked and vulnerable than I had ever felt before in all my years as a werewolf.

"Hey!" I whispered softly to the nearest werewolf on the other side of the bars.

The kid, only around twelve or thirteen, turned his head and stared at me, eyes wide with fear and confusion. I slowly reached out through the bars, careful not to touch them, and rested my hand on the child's shoulder, the universal gesture of friendship and trust.

He flinched but didn't try to back away or shrug off my hand, which I wrongly assumed was a good sign.

"I'm gonna get you out, ok?" I reassured him as best I could, but he just carried on staring at me.

The reason he didn't back away? There wasn't enough room in the cage, the werewolves were so tightly packed in.

But the panicked kid sure found his voice.

"Nnnnnnnnnnn…"

It started out as a quiet protest, but soon rose into a high-pitched scream.

"!"

The other kids reacted instantly, the youngest joining in with the screaming, and the older ones throwing back their heads in a full-on howl.

"Ah shit!" I scrambled backwards, eyes looking right and left, frantically searching for the guard. But as it turned out, all that screaming worked to my advantage.

The scent of silver didn't stop at the cage, but carried on right past it. There were drag marks and footsteps on the forest floor, as though someone had been forced away from the cage, probably _restrained_ in silver.

Using the cover of the commotion, the very one that I had _caused,_ I followed the trail, hoping and praying it would lead me to Sammy.

I heard running footsteps, voices shouting angrily, the snap and whine of what sounded suspiciously like some kind of cattle prod, and the screaming and howling died away to soft whimpers of pain.

Next up, the guards set about the all important task of arguing bitterly with each other.

"What was it?"

"I don't know! A bear, maybe?"

"You think a bear would frighten a bunch of werewolves, dumbass?"

"Well, _something_ sure set the brats off."

"I want a thorough search of the area…"

"Fine! You go right ahead!"

"That was an _order_, fuck-face!"

"Yeah? Well, I don't take orders from an asshole like you, _cock-sucker…"_

They were interrupted by a familiar, angry bellow, signifying the start of some serious ass-kicking, but I was already gone, heading further into the forest.

Chuckling lightly, I could only imagine the major eye-roll Sire might have indulged in before he attacked the two guards. He would have heard them arguing like an old married couple, and there's only so much of the ridiculous Sire will take, even from amateurs.

No doubt, they presented little challenge to a professional killer like Tobius Le Salle.

I moved onwards, following the trail, growing more and more worried with the ever present tang of silver on the night air, mingling with the scent of Sam's blood.

There was no telling how much damage had been done to him. Given his, let's face it, history of pretty shit luck with silver weapons; I began wondering just how much more the kid could take.

Turned out, _a lot_ more.

Up ahead, in a small, dried up, frozen creek, Sam sat naked and silent on the forest floor, arms stretched tight behind him and chained around the base of a huge conifer, presumably by silver. His head hung down limply, matted hair hiding his face from me. He was covered in a thin layer of snow, but I could still see that his skin was mottled with bruises.

I could smell salty sweat, dirt, blood and silver, and some other kind of scent. Tobius and I had detected faint traces of it early on in our journey, but now it was stronger.

_Much_ stronger, and it had a faint, metallic, sulphuric flavour to it.

_Shit._

I sank to my knees beside him and gently grasped his chin, tilting his head up and brushing the snow off him for what little good it would do.

Smoothing back his mop of hair, I nearly dropped his chin again in shock.

Sam's eyes were open and glowing a strange, deep, dark purple, almost like a black light was shining in them. The black rims around his irises were thinned out, the strangely coloured pupils taking up nearly all space. Kind of like he'd been drugged, quite literally, up to the eyeballs…

_Oh God… Sam… _he didn't answer. Didn't even _look_ at me. _Sammy, can you hear me, dude?_

Cradling his head in my hands, I stared deep into his eyes, and thought projected my ass off at him.

I got nothing back. Sam didn't even know I was here...

"Good evening," a Cockney accented voice remarked, casually, off to my left.

A match was struck, lighting up the guy's face very briefly, and a cloud of cigar smoke snaked around the clearing. He was dressed all in black, though his feet were bare.

"I can see those imbeciles covered their tracks well," he continued, with a hint of annoyed sarcasm. "Remind me never to use Type One's for _my_ dirty work. Bloody useless, arrogant bastards, the lot of them."

He moved closer with a baffling confidence, and crouched down on the other side of Sam.

"Who the fuck are you, and what the hell have you done to my son?" I roared, rising back up and looming over the guy. "You tell me, _right now_, or I swear to God I'll…"

"Do _what_, exactly?" he just calmly shrugged, completely unafraid of me. "Dangle your wedding tackle in my face again? Speaking of, I'd put some clothes on if I were you. Wouldn't want to _snag it _on anything sharp now, eh? Name's Crowley, by the way."

He actually had the nerve to hold out a hand by way of introduction, as though we were going to be best buddies or something, but he quickly withdrew it when I snarled, showing off my lengthened incisors.

And yeah, it _had _crossed my mind to tear his damn arm right off.

"Not that it matters," he said, with another uncaring shrug. "I can always grow another one. Just bloody hurts, losing a limb." His sudden grin was as infuriating as his obvious ability to read me, and the bastard _winked_. "Bit like losing your kid, eh, Dean?"

"You _sonofabitch!_" I practically leapt at him, aiming to pin the fucker to the nearest tree and rip his balls off.

"Now, now, Dean," the guy, _Crowley_, sharply backed off a few steps but still didn't appear to be all that scared of me. "Don't do anything rash. I'm one of the few people who knows what Sam's been dosed with, and I can _help_ him."

He raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture, head dipped out of respect, but only just.

My fists were clenched hard at my sides, but I stopped my advanced, growling low in my throat.

"You really should keep your pups under better control, Tobius," Crowley suddenly announced. "They don't seem to realise who they're trifling with."

He turned to grin right at me, and his eyes glowed bright green in the darkness.

Crowley was a Type Two. Just like us.

"Perhaps, you shouldn't give my pups any reason to _need_ it, _Crowley._"

There was a rustle from nearby and Tobius appeared in human form, with a bedraggled and bloodied wolf loping along beside him.

"Dean, relax," he said, calmly. "Despite appearances, and his rather _unorthodox_ attitude, Crowley is actually supposed to be one of the good guys."

When I hesitated, Tobius looked me right in the eye and nodded, a clear gesture to stand down, which I did willingly, happy to let him take over.

Though I was desperate to find out how these two knew each other, I had greater worries right then. Sire would fill me in later.

I rounded the tree, eyeing the cuffs on Sam's wrists. Ignoring the silver sizzling against my skin, I set about breaking Sam's bonds with my bare hands. We had no lock picks, but the silver cuffs weren't hardened and, in any case, they couldn't hold up against a worried and angry wolf trying to free his injured pup.

Sam rolled over bonelessly to the side before I could catch him. It worried me that he still hadn't made a sound, or a thought projection and, for a fleeting, irrational moment there, I wondered if he was in the process of turning into a Type One.

Swallowing down my fears, I tucked Sam into my arms, his head draped limply over the crook of my elbow, and stared into those lifeless, purple eyes.

_Sammy, c'mon, dude. Talk to me…_

So intent on Sam, I didn't hear what was said next, until Crowley laughed raucously.

"Oh, don't give me that 'holier-than-thou' bollocks, mate," his laughter petered out, and he pinned Sire with a chilly stare. "You seem to be forgetting something. You're not the only one who was affected when Lady Anna passed."

I tensed up on hearing that. Lady Anna was Sire's lost love, and mother to his dead daughter. He'd still never really told us the full story there, and now it seemed that Crowley had been involved.

Tobius' face suddenly seemed to be carved in stone: cold, hard and unforgiving. Only the slight gleam in his eyes gave away his emotional state. And Crowley noticed it, because his smile became a slight, sympathetic twist of the mouth.

"Thought that might hit a nerve," he said, sadly, took a puff of his cigar and blew out a smoke ring, raising an eyebrow. "You always did fall too easily. But for some village slut who spread her legs for…

He didn't get to finish because Tobius was lunging at him, changing in mid leap. His paws hit Crowley square in the chest, just as his human feet left the ground.

Morphing from nose to snout and back, snarling and spitting in the other non-lunar's face, Sire shook him furiously.

"Don't you _ever_ talk about her like that again," Tobius growled angrily. "And you don't say her name in front of me. _Ever_, you understand?"

Another hard shake just made Crowley sigh.

"You really can't accept the truth about Anna, can you?" he pushed his face right up into Tobius' and tilted it to one side. "Even after all these long years, you still can't come to grasps with the fact that she turned you away because the guy she was _actually _betrothed to had more money and a bigger _cock_ than you!"

Tobius let out an angry howl that even Crowley appeared to cringe away from.

"Your betrayal got her killed, you bastard!" Sire's eyes brimmed with tears, threatening to spill down his face, now pale with anger. "She was _mine_. She was my _mate_, mother of my_ child!"_

Crowley went silent for a few seconds and, surprisingly, his expression softened.

"I know that's what you think, but you'll never learn to move on if you don't listen to the truth," Crowley leaned forward and placed a hand on Tobius' shoulder, squeezing gently. "I did it to protect you and the Pack. When Anna discovered she was pregnant, she eventually planned to tell her lord and husband that you raped her and left her with your bastard child. You _know_ what that would have led to, brother. It was Anna and your child, and I know it was a terrible sacrifice to make. But could you have lived with the alternative on your conscience? The destruction of the entire Pack?" he shook his head. "I know you would rather have died than see that happen, brother."

Tobius shuddered, and dropped his gaze.

I blinked. _Brother? Really?_

Seriously? I thought it was just some kind of metaphor, but Tobius' saddened face turned my way, and I knew it wasn't. Especially when he nodded.

_Yes. Even a burned out old wolf like me can still be a brother._

He cleared his throat quietly, and seemed to compose himself back into that typical British, 'stiff upper lip' guy with astonishing speed.

_I was turned under circumstances remarkably similar to the way I turned you._

It certainly shed a different light on our new companion.

Correction, _one of our _new companions.

I'd forgotten about the other bloodied wolf, sitting patiently back on its haunches, watching the scene with an austere glare.

There was time for that later, but right now I had more important questions.

"So that makes you, _what_? My _uncle?_" I asked Crowley, impatiently. "Sam's _great _uncle?" Screw this. Not important. "What was he drugged with and what the hell were you doing here in the first place?"

Crowley spun around gracefully and gave a deep, flourishing bow.

"Indeed. Meet your _Uncle_ Crowley," he grinned. "And if you behave yourself, and don't tell ya daddy, I'll give you a lollipop."

"Fuck off..." I responded.

"That's no way to talk to your…"

"Crowley," Sire growled a warning. "Just answer his questions, would you? If Sam is seriously ill then we need to know, and I'm _also_ rather curious to know exactly what you're doing here."

Before Crowley could answer, the silent wolf padded forward and changed. He stood before us, eyes glowing bright blue, staring around him as though utterly bewildered by life in general. And when he spoke his voice sounded dull and emotionless.

"Crowley and I are senior field agents of the NLSU. Or, Non-Lunar Special operations Unit," he said, tonelessly. "We had a tip off about an illegal fight arena in the mountains, and acted accordingly."

I nearly laughed, but Tobius seemed to be taking all this real seriously.

_This is a joke, right? _I tried not to smirk. _A Special Ops Unit? _

_And why not? _The guy monotoned away in my head. _Your Sire is the founding father. Long before that, he was Beta of the Canadian Pack, in fact. And would have taken Alpha but chose…_

_That's enough, Castiel. _Tobius snapped. _You're getting off track._

Sire glanced at me and knew that little slip hadn't gone unnoticed. Yeah, we had plenty to talk about once we got Sam to safety.

The other wolf wasn't fazed in the slightest by Sire's tone, but he did concede with a nod.

"Our task force serves primarily to protect the Canadian Pack, but also to protect humans from the growing numbers of Type One non-lunars."

My eyes widened. "Growing numbers? I thought they were supposed to be dying out!"

The new wolf regarded me with that strange stare.

"So did we," he replied, ominously.

Silence fell while we all watched each other, Sam still and silent in my arms.

Castiel tilted his head to the other side. "You must be Dean. It is an honour to meet you. I would be your… yes, I believe I am your _Uncle_ Castiel."

"What?" This was getting too damn, fucking _much. _I turned to face Sire. "Just how many other brothers have you been hiding from us?"

Tobius just stared into the distance.

"One more. Marcus. But you'll meet him later," Castiel replied, still staring at me.

His gaze was a little unnerving but non-threatening, like a child assessing me as part of a school science project. If he hadn't seemed so straight laced, I could've sworn he was stoned.

"And now to answer your questions," Castiel continued, as though nothing was weird, strange, or ya know _fucked up_ at all. "Sam has been drugged with a highly addictive sedative-style drug, called Sleepworm. Evidently, he put up too much of a fight for his captors to handle."

_That's my boy,_ I gazed down at Sam, limp and lifeless in my arms. _Even blind you gave them hell._

"Indeed," Castiel's gaze seemed to soften a little. Clearly he carried emotion but hid it well, most of the time.

I caught up just then. "What the hell is Sleepworm?" I barked, sharply.

"Sleepworm is a powerful combination of human drugs and herbs often used in black magic. It renders the victim senseless and addicted immediately, if the dosage is high enough. Your son," Castiel stared me straight in the eye "had several doses forced on him before he succumbed."

I was on the verge of a panic attack, I'm not afraid to admit.

"How does it work?" I asked, subtly deep breathing and trying to keep my voice from trembling with anger.

"No one knows for certain," Sire answered this time, sounding weary. "I, personally, have not come across Sleepworm before, but most non-lunars dating from the time of the Crusades have heard of it. No one's sure where it emerged from, but rumour suggested the Pope himself had it created under terms of absolute secrecy, to use against Saladin's troops."

Not surprisingly. The Catholic Church was against anything remotely pagan, but it wouldn't have been the first time a pope turned hypocrite just to win an argument. And it wouldn't be the last either.

"It's been adapted over the years to use against werewolves," Crowley added, quietly. "Though by whom, we just don't know."

"There's something else you should be aware of," said Castiel, solemnly. "A trigger word, if repeated often enough in the victim's ear as they're sliding under, can be used to wake them up. And when it does? Watch out."

"What the hell do you mean?" I growled, clutching Sam tighter to me.

"He means, your son will go from unconscious to apeshit in about a nanosecond," Crowley blew out a ring of cigar smoke, and eyed me worriedly. "'Cos this particular group of Type Ones use Sleepworm that's been spiked with a rage ritual. Makes sense, though eh?" he glanced at Castiel and nodded. "After all, these brutal bastards were running a fight club. Couldn't have their participants drugged up to the gills in the arena. Fast way to lose money, and an even faster way to lose your bollocks when your rich clients find out their evening's entertainment's gone down the crapper."

"Ok... so what can we do for him?" I demanded. "There has to be some kind of treatment, right?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes, but I think we should walk as we talk. The sooner we get back to pack grounds and report to Marcus, the better."

I hefted Sam up and stood, carefully sniffing his hair and neck, checking for any further injury. To my relief, all his physical injuries were superficial, and looked worse than they actually were. He'd been beaten around the head a few times, and head wounds always bled like a bitch. But they would heal.

It was the drug that worried the shit out of me.

Sam looked pale, his breathing shallow and slow, and those _eyes_… they reminded me of Zombie eyes in The Walking Dead, but in purple.

Downright creepy on TV, but heartbreaking on Sammy.

Tobius gripped my shoulder.

"He'll be fine Dean. We just have to get hold of some more of the Sleepworm for Sam."

_What? _That sure wasn't on _any _agenda I knew of!

I backed away. _Oh, you are sooo not giving him anymore of that shit!_

Sire smiled sympathetically.

_I don't like it either, but going cold turkey on Sleepworm is apparently not an option, especially with how much they've probably given him. It's terribly painful and dangerous. It might not kill him, but it could harm him in other ways._

I shifted from foot to foot, and looked down at Sam a few times, before asking the dreaded question.

_How? I mean. What could withdrawal do to him?_

_Seizures. Lot's of terrible, violent seizures, _said Tobius, gently. _Which could lead to a complete alteration of his brain biochemistry…_

I stopped him right there with a quietly whispered "…and brain damage. Right?"

Sire closed his eyes for a second.

_I'm afraid so._

He looked at me again and moved forward, resting his hand on my shoulder once more.

_Like I said, we don't know how it all works, and I suspect there could be some kind of pseudo-silver action to it._ _But_ _I won't let it get that far, Dean. I promise._

I breathed out, long and slow. _I know you won't._

Tobius nodded, a tight smile on his face, and I was reminded that our mountainside rescue hadn't exactly been a picnic for him either so far.

Reunions with long lost brothers aside, Crowley's claims about his beloved Anna must have caused one hell of a fissure in his heart for him to have come so close to crying like that.

_Sire…_

But he was already turning away and addressing Castiel.

I shrugged, taking the hint. He didn't want to talk about it and I wasn't offended in the slightest. A man's heartbreak is his own business.

Instead, I listened with one ear to the quiet conversation going on between the brothers.

"And I'm assuming you know who these rich, fight arena clients are?" asked Tobius, tightly.

Crowley looked surprisingly wary and uncomfortable at Sire's question, and Castiel's eyes darkened.

"Yes," he shot Crowley a look I couldn't decipher. "It was someone from within the Canadian Pack."

_**TBC**_

_**Had a real shitty night on call, so I could use some moral boosting.**_

_**I'm completely knackered, so instead of answering your reviews this time, I just posted this chapter.**_

_**I hope that's ok.**_


	5. Chapter 5

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 5**

_**Now…**_

"**I think you might be getting the feel for this now, huh?" says Dean, raising an eyebrow at the camera. "Kind of a werewolf 'whodunnit'. Well, that's the way it seemed to us at the time."**

**He's dressed in black boxer briefs and a Metallica tee-shirt, legs crossed at the ankles, bare feet just a few inches from the lens. His left hand is idly stroking Sam's belly, and the young wolf snorts through his snout, sucks air back in like a straw at the end of the milk shake, and grumbles softly.**

**Sam, laying on his back, is seemingly asleep, legs up, paws curled up in the classic 'dead dog' pose, tongue hanging down his neck, and snoring away like a lawn mower gone insane. He snorts again, grunts, and the snoring suddenly gets inexplicably louder.**

**Dean grins fondly. "Hey, Sammy? Can you roll over dude? You're making too much noise."**

**He gives the wolf a nudge, and is treated to a long wet tongue up the side of his face. Sam, satisfied Dean's been put in his place, finally rolls over and goes back to sleep.**

**Dean grimaces. "Yeah… wrong way… that's my happy place, dude. Can you…?" he pushes at the wolf, not as gently as before. "Ow! Sam! Move… crushed… walnuts…!"**

**His voice is getting cut off from the camera's microphone by the ever increasing volume of Sam's snores which, by now, everyone's pretty much figured out, are a complete fake.**

**Sam makes a huge show of jumping up and looking startled, practically trampling his _fatherbrother_ who is pushed off the bed, disappearing out of shot. **

**The look on Sam's furry face is that of confusion; of someone who's just been jolted violently awake. But the gleam of mischief in his eyes tells us otherwise.**

**And Dean obviously isn't so easily fooled either, because he rises from behind the bed, holding what looks to be some kind of pistol.**

"**Right, that's it," he whispers, menacingly, and cocks the gun.**

**Sam tries to make a dive for cover, but it's too late. The jet of water hits him square on the snout and he splutters loudly. The squirting goes on, with Dean laughing at Sam's wriggling. Eventually, Sam gives himself a good, hard shake, flinging water droplets everywhere, and jumps off the bed, with Dean following him all the way around the room until the water runs out.**

**But it's Sam who has the last laugh.**

**The young wolf jumps up on the other bed and sits on a pillow, grinning widely up at Dean, panting softly.**

"**What you smilin' at, waterdog?" Dean puts down his 'weapon' and poses smugly like some kind of superhero.**

**Sam looks down, snout pointing at his _dry _bed, then glances over to the other decidedly wet one.**

**The smile on Dean's face drops like a stone when he realises what he's done.**

"**Sonofabitch!" he murmurs, sulkily. "I wet my _own_ bed."**

**Sam's tail swishes, lazily, from side to side as if to say _Sam, one. Dean nil._**

**Dean saunters over to the camera and peers into the lens, blocking Sam's view. "Yeah, I know you're gonna miss my handsome face, but once _Sammy's _changed the sheets" there's a short _woof_ of protest from out of shot "I'll be back".**

**The audience gets a brief shot of Dean's grin just as Sam leaps from the bed, huge front paws splayed out and landing on the back of Dean's shoulders, taking him down.**

**The world goes upwards, followed by a loud thump and some expletives, before the screen goes blank.**

* * *

><p><strong>The screen flickers, and Dean's back, as promised.<strong>

"**Sam's out getting breakfast with Sire," he says with a boyish grin. "So, now it's just you and me, baby. Wanna hold hands, and talk…?"**

_**Then…**_

The loaded silence went on until Tobius gestured for them to continue.

That's something I noted in the back of my mind throughout this weird-ass conversation. Sire might not be the Canadian Pack Alpha, or carry any kind of official authority within the Canadian Pack itself, but his brothers respected him, even taking into account the initial tension between him and Crowley. Somehow, I got the feeling it was down to more than just a courtesy extended to another pack alpha, and it was the same feeling I'd felt around the Home Pack.

This was something else to add to my long list of things worthy of pondering over later on.

"We first thought it was all down to Giuseppe, one of the pack elders," said Crowley, his eyes narrowing. "But he supposedly buggered off to Switzerland a month ago. He probably listened in on council chamber meetings through the door or, more likely, was tipped off by someone who was on the council itself, and fled. No one's seen or heard from him since."

"An insider job?" said Tobius, sounding surprised. "And I thought Guiseppe was _on _the council!"

"Yeah, mate," Crowley stubbed his cigar out on a handy tree. "He was, until he was caught quite literally with his pants down in the Pack Beta's bed. Bloody Italians. Can't keep the mouse in the hole…"

"That's rich coming from you," said Tobius, shortly.

Crowley just grinned, proudly, but didn't say a word.

"Wait, wait, wait!" I exclaimed, reeling from all this. Trying to get everything straight was giving me a headache. "So you…" I stopped as something else suddenly occurred to me. It was a little off topic but I was dying to know, for future reference. "Are you saying it's illegal to sleep with the Pack Beta?"

"It is when the Beta is drunk from his birthday celebrations, unconscious, and most definitely NOT gay," drawled Crowley.

I grimaced.

"Yeah," he noted my response and laughed. "Took _him_ by surprise a bit too, when the Beta woke up the following morning to find a _bloke_ in his bed, instead of his wife. S'enough to freak anyone out..."

"All joking aside," said Castiel, pointedly, and a little angrily it seemed to me. "It turned out that the rich, expensive clients were the ones organising the whole thing, and that includes hiring the Type Ones to round up the Type Twos. They chose lone families, living outside of any major packs, so no one would miss them, but they slipped up one too many times. Pay them enough money and a Type One will do anything for you."

It's also real easy to lose their loyalty, and a disloyal Type One gets sloppy very quickly.

"Exactly," said Crowley, a little smugly. "And since Giuseppe had been stripped of all assets in punishment for his insult, barring his quarters at the pack house, its pretty certain he wasn't the one holding the purse strings for this one."

I snorted. "You don't believe he's in Switzerland. It's a code word for heartless, throatless, and six feet under, right?"

Crowley turned to me with something close to admiration in his eyes. "Well, well, well. You're not just a pretty boy after all." He nodded. "You're right. We think he was intercepted long before he tried to escape the country. Probably by the real organisers to make sure he didn't squeal once he got to safety."

I would have glowered at him, but for some reason I couldn't take offence. Guy was sarcastic, smarmy and even a little slimy, but God help me, in a weird sort of way, I was beginning to like Crowley.

I broke out in a reluctant grin and shook my head.

"And that brings us in full circle to our pack," said Castiel, thoughtfully. "I still think it's a pack elder. They're the only ones rich enough for something like this…"

_Silence! _Tobius drew in a sharp breath, his nostrils flaring. _There's_ _someone up ahead. Another five or six miles from here. Dean, stay between Castiel and me. Crowley, you take point._

_Right you are, Squire,_ said Crowley, and partially changed as he stalked slowly through the trees. He didn't bother to undress, I noticed. Instead, his black suit split into several pieces, accompanied by the sound of tearing Velcro and the clothing just fell away.

He winked at me when he saw me watching, produced a plastic Ziploc bag, carefully folded the garments inside it, and stowed them away under a rotten old tree root.

_Armani, mate, _he explained as he completed his change. _Specially made for the discerning non-lunar. Bloody priceless._

He moved out on reconnaissance without another word.

So he was vain as hell, on top of sarcastic, smarmy and slimy.

His fur was similar to Sire's, black and tan, but his ears were speckled like a hyena's, and although he was of a respectable size, he was no where near as big as Tobius, me, or even Sammy.

As Crowlet disappeared into the gloom, I glanced back at Castiel, who'd also changed to wolf form again. Underneath all that blood and mud, his fur was probably a pure white, but it was hard to be sure.

Obviously, I couldn't change. Someone had to carry Sam.

I huddled the kid closer, tighter, keeping his head tucked under my chin, trying to share my bodily warmth with him, while we waited for Crowley's signal.

Either we would move onwards, retreat or attack.

Instead, he came back to us, circling Tobius and whining softly.

_It's ok. It's only our boys and girls of the NLSU here for the clean up back at the arena_.

_What about all those other kids? _I asked.

Crowley's eyes shone green as he glanced my way.

_They'll be taken back to the pack, bathed, fed, and looked after. _

_The Alpha will make sure the youngest are given to good pack families, _Castiel added. _The older ones will be given the option to join the pack. If they choose to leave, they will be provided for._

But I wanted to know what had happened to their own families, the ones they'd lived with before they were taken, and why they couldn't be returned to them.

Can't say I liked the answer.

The NLSU would try to track them down, but in most cases they'd been killed, probably in their beds when the children were kidnapped in the first place, or out in the wilderness, like the brave she-wolf we'd left behind that night. Apparently, it all depended on what kind of playful mood the Type Ones were in at the time, and no doubt that poor woman had been raped over and over before being forced to watch her pups die.

Eventually, we heard the quiet rush of paws, and saw distant, dark shadows moving closer.

We all watched as a small cohort of wolves galloped gracefully on by, their leader, some kind of Captain of the guard, giving Tobius a short, sharp nod.

It was such a seemingly small gesture, but it spoke of the highest respect, which Sire returned easily.

_Make sure you report to me as soon as you get back, Captain, _ordered Crowley.

_Of course, Sir, _the Captain replied with another small dip of the head, but there was nothing like the level of respect he'd shown Sire.

I was beginning to wonder more and more about Tobius Le Salle and his secrets.

Guess I should have been pissed by it after all these years, but there was no point in taking it personally because it's not like he keeps his secrets forever. He usually gets around to telling us eventually, or somehow lets us find out for ourselves.

It wasn't a trust issue. It was just him being… _him._

Awkward bastard.

We spent another three hours or so trundling through the forest. It was a completely uneventful journey and the three brothers didn't talk much, not even to pass the time or catch up. Which seemed a little strange to me; I'd had the distinct impression Castiel and Crowley hadn't seen Tobius in years.

I found myself wondering what Sam would make of all this, what his first impressions of Sire's brothers would be. It reminded me, yet again, of how much I had come to trust and rely on the kid over the years, of how quickly he'd been forced to grow up and, most importantly, of how he was now fast becoming our equal.

Sam still hadn't stirred in all this time we'd been on the move, his body heavy and limp in my arms. His eyes remained open, fixed, and staring at something I couldn't see. The glowing purple irises were beginning to lose their lustre, becoming dim and dull. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

_It's a sign he needs his next hit of Sleepworm, and soon, _Castiel informed me when I asked.

I heard him padding along behind, and then suddenly felt his mud-encrusted ears brushing my thigh, comfortingly.

_It's not desirable, I know. But we are not far from the pack, nephew. _

He at least managed to sound hopeful, which was progress; given that the guy seemed to have shown little emotion in the short time I'd known him.

With dawn not far off, we hit a small, quiet road nestled among the trees. Though snow was falling heavily the road appeared spotless, as though it had recently been cleared and salted.

When I looked to the skies, it seemed like the falling snow melted away to nothing around fifty feet up. It puzzled the hell out of me, so I studied it all a little closer as we moved on.

There was nothing remarkable about the road, just plain, ordinary black top, fairly well used, no street lights or anything, except for a small, unobtrusive, but intricate crest, cast in wrought iron and held aloft on a pole embedded in the embankment. I caught a closer glimpse of this as we slunk on by, and I was more than a little surprised by it:

Three wolves, their tails curled around each other, heads thrown back as if howling at the full moon over their heads.

Hmm.

I guessed, correctly as it turned out, that this was the driveway and main access to Pack HQ. It was kept clear of extreme weather conditions by some kind of weather shield. Apparently, the resident cook, of all people, was responsible for this singular spectrum of spells, and made sure the weather shield covered the entire grounds.

I was curious to meet this _cook. _Tobius informed me that she was quite the culinary expert and had taught him everything he knew. So weather spells seemed a strange hobby to indulge in.

The Pack itself, Crowley had explained a few miles back, was fairly self-sufficient, and able to get along with little contact or intervention from the outside world. It had its own emergency generator and solar energy panels, a separate water supply coming from straight off the mountains, with individual animal, wheat, arable and fruit farming communities. Just enough sun and rain was allowed in by the weather shields all year round to promise successful harvests.

Christ, it even had its own vineyard.

But there were certain luxuries that had to be obtained from outside the grounds, and a second road, which ran to the rear gates of the grounds, was often used as a service entrance for deliveries of specialised goods.

_After Eight Mints, for example, _Crowley's eyes practically glowed with lust, and he licked his chops several times. _Molton Mowbray Pork Pies, HP sauce, proper Danish bacon…_

He'd begun drooling by this point, and Sire ordered him to stop thinking about food and to concentrate on the road.

Thinking about that crest again, I wondered about that wrought iron image of the full moon.

_What was with that crest back there? __We're **non**-lunars, after all…_

_That would be Marcus' bright idea. _Sire murmured, looking back at me with an amused gleam in his eye. _For the Pack Alpha, he has a rather… __**unique**__ sense of humour. Don't try to understand. All you'll achieve is an annoying headache._

I heard Crawley's rather derisive snort and glanced over at him, but he just turned away without commenting.

Marcus sounded like quite a character.

But there were more surprises in store before I would get to meet the Pack Alpha.

When we finally arrived at Pack HQ, we were greeted by armed non-lunars at a set of massive, solid iron and oak doors, which also bore the road-side crest but on a much larger scale. The doors were around the height of one of those huge portcullises you get in old castles. Maybe taller. And they were flanked on either side by a large, stone wall which, I was reliably informed, ran around the entire circumference of the pack grounds.

There were markings and sigils etched into the doors, the wall, and even the lock and hinges. If you looked closely enough, you could also make out a large iron devil's trap in front of the doors and guard house, made of black iron dug deep into the soil.

These guys took no chances.

The non-lunars, both male and female, were armed with a mix of crossbows and heavy duty longbows, and carried quivers of what appeared to be silver tipped arrows. Every guard was dressed in black fatigues from head to toe, and the only splash of colour was the white badges of rank they wore on their lapels. Their peak caps were pulled down low, almost completely covering their eyes, making it seem kind of intimidating. Even the FBI might have thought twice about pissing these guys off.

And the big bastard who signed us all in, a sergeant, judging by his stripes, was particularly huge and fierce looking, with his almost burnt dark skin that made his glowing blue eyes all the more startling.

When Crowley and Castiel approached the sergeant, he bowed low and respectfully, and mumbled something in a deep, South African accent. Crowley and Castiel changed back to human form and returned the gesture. More mumbling followed, and then the sergeant stepped back into the guardhouse for a couple of minutes.

He returned holding several soft looking robes in a deep maroon colour, and there was more mumbling.

I wondered if he was just shy, but after Castiel and Crowley dressed in the robes, the sergeant approached Sire.

Now, you have to understand something at this point.

I was tired, hungry, and worried as hell about my boy so, at the time, I wasn't entirely certain I heard it right.

The sergeant mumbled something to Tobius, followed by what sounded like "the Alpha awaits you at your leisure, Your Grace."

That's what I thought I heard.

'_Your Grace.'_

Now, I'm pretty sure Sire ain't some kind of Bishop.

So, what was he exactly?

I had a feeling this could turn out to be his biggest secret yet.

And then there was the 'at your leisure'. Really? The Alpha of not just any major pack, but Tobius' original family, was willing to be kept waiting until his guests deigned to see him?

Had no idea what the hell this was all about, and I was feeling way out of my depth. But, in hind sight, I guess there had been subtle little clues over the years, tiny hints to suggest that Sire was more than he seemed.

Ya know, former-SAS and non-lunar status aside.

_Sammy, you'd better wake the hell up soon, dude. I'm gonna need your input on this._

I just hoped we hadn't wandered into some weird, chicken sacrificing cult that Sire used to head up, or something.

"Master Dean," the Sergeant had moved quick and silent to stand in front of me, holding out a couple of robes. "If you would permit me, I am only too happy to assist in clothing your pup."

I hesitated. The guy seemed friendly enough, and his respectful smile was genuine. But it meant letting go of Sam and I wasn't ready to do that.

"Sergeant Fisher," Sire called out, sensing my mistrust. "Perhaps if you could hold out the robes, Master Dean and I will do the rest?"

"As you wish, Your Grace."

See? I _told_ you, right?

'_Your Grace.'_

Yeah, I can pretty much guarantee that, at a later date, there would be an exchange of words like no other between my Sire and me.

The sergeant bowed again, arms fully extended outwards, robes hanging down from each.

Tobius, who by this time had already donned his own robe, gently took Sam from me. I used the time to quickly tug my robe on, taking a small second to admire just how soft and warm it was, if a little weird and girly, then tie up the belt. Then, between us, we did the same for Sam.

Must admit, I felt a little easier now that Sam's modesty was taken care of, especially when we were about to enter the house of a strange pack, and I hadn't yet completely ascertained whether they were friend or foe. Sure, they walked the walk and talked the talk, but we've been screwed over before by people calling themselves our allies.

_I know this is difficult for you, Dean,_ Tobius murmured, softly as we waited for the huge doors to open for us. _And I'm aware that you have many, many questions. I will answer them all, one day. You know I will._ He cleared his throat._ These are good people, over all, though there may be a small minority to watch out for._

I risked a furtive glance at him.

_Oh yeah? Who?_

Sire kept looking straight ahead, but answered me promptly.

_The elders are particularly old fashioned, not surprisingly, so be careful what you say around them, especially with regard to Sam and his powers. _He snorted, inelegantly._ They have long memories and are suspicious of anything that might be considered witch craft. They only just tolerate Cook's magic use, and that's only because it's of benefit to them. Remember, in this pack? The death penalty has never been abolished, even if it hasn't been carried out in around one hundred and fifty years. Watch your back, young pup. And Sam's._

He'd got me worried, but I knew Sire would protect us from the others. No way would he have agreed to come here if it was too dangerous, and the Pack Alpha being my uncle kind of helped. In any case, no alpha worth his salt allowed his pack to go around killing their guests. It was considered bad etiquette. While there was no such thing as Diplomatic Immunity within werewolf packs – in the sense that, as Sire had just informed me, we could still be tried and executed for serious enough crimes - guests were to be protected from harm for reasons of courtesy and honour.

The large double doors suddenly opened with a loud _clunk, _and swung silently inwards. Tobius squeezed my shoulder and winked at me.

Crowley and Castiel swept forward, regally, eyes hard and chins raised.

The way ahead was lined with more armed non-lunars, but this time in what appeared to be some kind of grand dress uniform in red, white and gold. Quite the splash of colour.

I'd never seen anything like it before, and it took every ounce of effort not to stare or let my jaw drop. I didn't want to appear ignorant, but _damn_ you should have seen the place!

It was a pretty grand entrance, with Castiel and Crowley in front, Tobius and I following on behind with Sam, and flanked by the huge Sergeant Fisher and one of his female corporals.

The pomp and ceremony was completely ruined by a small, female puppy wolf with overly large feet bounding out from between the guard of honour, and skidding into the back of Crowley.

Whatever else I'd come to expect of the guy, it wasn't the sudden smile and over dose of affection.

He called a halt and turned to the pup, who was sitting back on its haunches and gazing up at him with wide-eyed adoration.

"What are you doing out here, you little minx?" he called softly and crouched down. "You should be with your mother."

He reached out and scratched behind the pup's ears, rendering it helpless and whining in approval.

"Go on, clear off," Crowley gently pushed the wolf pup away. "Shoo!"

The pup grumbled back at him and strutted away indignantly, tail and head up.

Crowley shook his head. "Youngsters these days. So full of attitude and little else."

Our little procession moved off again, and this time we weren't interrupted.

I only saw a small part of the grounds at that stage, but let me tell you, I was utterly astounded by the sheer size of the place. I'm no judge of architecture, but some of it put me in mind of photos Tobius had once shown me of Vatican City and St Peter's Basilica.

It was pretty cool, with tall columns and Renaissance style statues, water fountains, lush green lawns, and the centrepiece was a huge brass globe about the size of a small car, resting on a white marble base. On the globe, tiny, black wolves danced around the equator, and the Pack crest resided over Canada. A water-filled mote surrounded the entire structure, bubbling merrily away to itself and cascading over marble dolphins into smaller pools further down the lawn.

All of it, everything single statue and water feature, was gracefully illuminated by hidden lamps.

Sounds over the top, maybe, but it sure was peaceful.

Several non-lunars, some in the maroon robes, others naked as the day they were born, lounged around on the grass, talking and laughing quietly, and drinking wine out of black marble goblets. Everyone seemed so relaxed and at ease with life under the grey, winter clouds and night sky, never affected by snow blizzards, howling winds or torrential rain, and knowing they were protected by armed guards and the colossal stone wall.

I looked down at Sam.

_You're gonna love this place, Sammy._

We passed on by and came out into a vast rose garden, filled with every manner of flowers and colours. We walked down the centre aisle, towards a large dome shaped building standing on its own at the back.

"This will be your quarters during your stay here," Castiel informed us, and gestured to the large oak door at the top of some ornately carved stone steps. "Any thing you need, just use the desk top computer terminal to send your requests to the serving staff. The email address is already programmed in. They will cater to everything."

Crowley smiled. "Take your time, try the brandy, and have a bubble bath! The doc's on his way to check on Sam, and he's bringing the Sleepworm."

The two brothers didn't follow us up, just waited outside for our doctor. Presumably, he was the guy hurrying along the garden path behind us, carrying a black leather bag, and bearing a serious, worried expression on his face. He looked a little young to be a doctor, but I guess as he was a non-lunar he could have been several hundred years old.

"Doc Taylor-Downs," he called out, voice midway between Crowley's Cockney and Tobius' upper class accent. Barely pausing to even look where he was going, he bounded up the steps to us. "Just call me Dave or Doc. Choice is yours."

In spite of his brusque approach he seemed fairly likeable and friendly. Tall, muscular, and looked to be in his early thirties, Dave's green eyes glowed and clashed with his bright ginger hair.

He took one look at Sam and clucked his tongue, sadly.

"Let's get him inside, poor kid," he said, resting a hand on Sam's forehead and peering into his eyes.

And not before time either. The minute we entered the room, Sam started convulsing in my arms. At first, it was just fine tremors up and down his arms and legs, but it grew into a full on seizure very quickly, and I nearly dropped him.

"Shit!"

I didn't get much of chance to take in the room; just accepted Tobius' help in dragging Sam over to a large four poster bed covered in soft animal furs, and dumped the kid on top.

"Hold his head still, Dean," said Sire, urgently. "I'll get his wrists."

Sam's flailing arms were pinned down by the full strength and weight of a senior werewolf, while I carefully gripped his head between my hands, and talked him through it. Not that he could hear, but it somehow made _me _feel a little better.

Dave wasted no time in opening his bag and pulling out a syringe.

"Right, that's it," said the doctor, urgently. "Hold him steady for me, now."

He swabbed the inside crook of Sam's left elbow with some kind of alcohol wipe, fixed a hypodermic needle to a syringe filled with a thick, black liquid, and flicked a finger against it, tapping the bubbles upwards. The bubbles moved sluggishly, and when he pushed them out some of the liquid spilled down the side of the syringe.

Sleepworm. It was horrendous; oily, evil smelling and when I looked a little more closely I could swear I saw dark shapes moving and jumping around inside.

Dave caught my eye and nodded. "What you just saw is the result of the blending process. The spells used to prepare this are particularly powerful and not to be trifled with. It also involves some very nasty spirits and they don't always do as they are told."

"And yet you still think shooting my son up with that crap is a good idea?" I demanded, hotly.

"Dean…" Sire growled softly.

The doc smiled sympathetically and gestured to Sam, who was still jerking violently on the bed, now with foam building up behind his teeth.

"This batch is free of suspicious rituals, if that's any consolation," he replied, softly. "Besides, what else would you have me do, sir?"

Filled with anguish, and not at all happy with what we were about to do, I leaned over Sam and whispered in his ear.

"Forgive me, Sammy, please? Just hold on, kid."

**_TBC..._**

**_C'mon. Tell me how much you want the next chapter..._**

**_Love ST xxx_**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 6**

**Disclaimer: No fact bashing, please: **

**All historical references are completely and utterly true, **

**except for the ones that quite obviously aren't. **

**(*grins cheekily*)**

_**Now…**_

**Dean yawns and cocks his head as if listening. A grin slowly forms on his face, and he leaps up off the bed just as the door to the room opens, revealing Sam and Tobius, in human form, dressed in jeans and tee shirts, and carrying several greasy bags.**

"**Here," Tobius thrusts a bag at Dean with his name scribbled on in pencil, who immediately opens it and sniffs appreciatively. "Don't blame me if you get indigestion, Dean."**

**Dean just shrugs, pulls out a juicy burger and practically devours it in one bite.**

**The senior non-lunar rolls his eyes affectionately.**

"**Good job we brought five, eh Sam?" Tobius smiles at his grandson.**

**Sam nods and laughs. "But I still wasn't convinced that would be enough," he holds up another bag, also with Dean's name on it. "Here ya go."**

**Dean swallows his mouthful and stares at the bag, then at Sam. "Awe, dude. You're a star, you know that? A Goddamned _star!_"**

**Sam grins back at him. "So I'm forgiven for the bed?"**

"**Yeah, I'll let it go this time," Dean murmurs, tucking into his next burger.**

"**Great! Must pee!" Sam announces and heads into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.**

**Dean freezes mid bite, eyes wide, then glances at his Sire.**

"**Uh…"**

**Tobius raises an eyebrow. "You didn't…"**

**Dean nods, sheepishly.**

**There's a muffled yell from the bathroom, followed by "DEAAANN!"**

**Tobius mouth purses. "You cling filmed the toilet? Really, Dean? I'm surprised at you."**

**Dean shrugs again. "He had it coming."**

"**I'd have hoped that you'd show a little more sophistication by now," his Sire remarks, and knocks on the bathroom door. "Are you ok in there, pup?"**

**The door opens, but Sam doesn't come out. "Can you get me some fresh clothes, please?" he mutters, dolefully, from behind the privacy of the door.**

**Tobius grabs a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt from a nearby duffle and passes them over.**

**Dean's face falls and he drops his bag of food on the table by the window.**

"**Sam, I'm sorry, dude..."**

**But the bathroom door slams shut.**

**Tobius clucks his tongue, loudly. "Oh dear, oh dear. Aren't we in someone's bad books!"**

"**It was just a joke," Dean grumbles, but knocks tentatively on the bathroom door. "Sam? C'mon on out, dude. I promise I won't laugh."**

**Silence.**

"**Sammy?"**

**The door opens again but, before Dean can duck, a pair of sodden jeans hits him full in the face.**

"**Ewwwww!" he shrieks like a girl and dry wretches loudly.**

**Sam reappears, dressed in his dry clothes and laughing his ass off.**

"**I think that's Advantage Sam Winchester," Tobius grins, and claps Sam on the back. "Well played, pup."**

**Dean wipes off his face with a hand, and wrinkles his nose. "Haha. Very funny. At least you _didn't _pee on them."**

"**You really thought I was gonna fall for that one?" Sam shakes his head. "Not a chance, man."**

"**Let's just eat, huh? Food's getting cold," says Dean, rolling his shoulders as though he could roll off his embarrassment that easily. But as he's passing by Sam on his way back to his bag of burgers, he throws an arm around the kid's shoulders and gives him a quick affectionate squeeze. "The student has surpassed the master. For now!"**

**As he's tucking into another burger, Dean sits down at the table and turns to face the camera.**

"**You guys don't mind if I eat while I talk, right?"**

"**They might not mind," says Tobius with a grimace. "But we do!"**

"**Ach!" Dean waves a hand in dismissal. "So don't look."**

**He takes a huge bite, swallows, and grins. "Here begins the next journal entry."**

_**Then...**_

I heard Tobius give Dave the go-ahead and, out the corner of my eye, I saw the needle carefully pushed into Sam's arm.

The purple glow in his eyes dimmed and flickered weakly, then gained strength. Never thought I'd be so happy to see that weird colour look… _healthy _again, for want of a better word, and to our immense relief the seizure began to recede.

The Doc was gently rubbing Sam's arm with one hand, presumably stimulating circulation, and pushing the syringe plunger with the other.

"That's it, easy now," he murmured, soothingly, as the convulsions calmed all the way back down to minor tremors again.

The stuff was so thick it took a good five minutes before the syringe was emptied, but by the time it was, Sam had stopped convulsing altogether, and the purple glow was steady as a rock.

We stayed silent while the Doc took Sam's pulse and temperature, then wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his upper left arm.

"I'll leave that on for the next few days," he said at last, keeping his voice soft and low. "He's stable for now. That was just the first dose, and I'll be stepping it down day by day, until he's off it completely."

Tobius nodded and held out a hand. "Thank you, Dave. We really appreciate all your help."

Dave smiled and shook the offered hand. "It's an absolute honour, Your Grace."

Tobius shifted uncomfortably when I stared hard at him.

"Please, call me Tobius," he mumbled, and avoided my gaze.

"How long will this take?" I asked, looking down at Sam's still, silent form. "And will there be any side effects?"

The Doc shrugged. "There's really no way to tell. It depends on how Sam's body handles the gradual withdrawal," he pulled out a small, black, plastic disc and handed it over to me. "If Sam shows any signs of distress, such as those seizures, or vomiting, don't hesitate: call me right away."

He pressed down hard on the disc and a small red light started flashing. It was followed a second later by a loud bleeping noise, coming from Dave's jacket pocket.

"I won't be far away, as it happens," he said, and began rubbing his hands with some kind of gel he'd pulled out of his bag. "I'm dealing with an ingrown claw early afternoon, and later on one of our pups needs the wax syringed out of his ears." He smiled faintly in amusement. "That should be good; last time I found a small piece of crayon in there. God knows what I'll dig out this time. Bloody kids. Gotta love 'em, eh? But I digress; I'll be back to check on you all from time to time throughout the day and night."

With a small salute, he was gone, bounding out of the room and back down the steps. It struck me just then who the Doc reminded me of: one of the Weasley twins from Harry Potter; the one with both ears intact? I hoped I didn't start looking around for his twin brother next time he paid us a visit. Guy might think I'm weird, or something.

"Everything go ok?" I heard Crowley ask the Doc outside our room, followed by soft murmuring that gradually faded as my two newly found uncles escorted him away.

"So, we've had a busy few days," I said, tucking Sam underneath the soft furs. "Sam kidnapped and drugged, you going all kill-crazy, meeting your family out in the middle of nowhere, and everyone keeps calling you 'Your Grace'."

I finished by smoothing the furs down, then stood up, folding my arms and staring at my father and Sire, silently demanding the truth.

"Ah… yes… well…" Tobius turned, paced to a cabinet over by the window, and pulled out a bottle of his favourite French brandy. Pouring two generous measures into crystal balloon glasses, he held one out, inviting me to joint him by the window.

I glanced back at Sammy, reluctant to leave his side, even just to go a few feet.

"He'll be fine for now, Dean," Tobius called softly.

I nodded and moved away, grasping the brandy glass eagerly.

We stared out the window, admiring the morning sun climbing high above the grounds.

I heard him sigh, before he told me.

"My full title is: His Grace, Honorary Lord of Anjou, and Honorary Duke of Normandy and Aquitaine."

I nearly choked to death on the brandy.

The liquid burned down the wrong way, burst out through my nose, and had me gasping and doubling over, with Sire thumping my back, hard.

I'm not up on titles or genealogy and all that shit, but even I knew what that meant. After all, even human hunters usually picked up a few international history lessons during their careers.

When I finally got my breath back, I glared at him.

"Duke of Normandy… that's supposed to be the Queen of England, right?" I whispered, angrily. "Elizabeth II, _she's _the current Duke."

"Yes," Sire stared at me, eyes deep and mysterious. "Werewolves are not permitted by lore to bare human titles or lay a claim to the sovereignty. Elizabeth would be my many times removed grandniece, or cousin, had I been human."

"So that makes you…" I struggled to get the words out. "That makes Elizabeth II…"

"The rightful human heir to the throne of England, and head of the Common Wealth," Tobius interrupted, a little too firmly. "As part of a major pack, I am permitted to use my titles within pack walls, or within the walls of the Queen's residence when invited. In fact, Marcus, as Alpha, is also an Honorary Lord of the Realm, and is called to state several times a year, partly to pay homage to Her Majesty, but mainly to discuss pack matters."

I just gaped, unable to say a word. I'd just found out that my father was a fucking _King_ without a _crown_ so I was a little upset, if you get my drift.

"She grants us the highest respect," he carried on, oblivious to my distress. "In fact, her close personal body guards are all non-lunars from this pack. Raised and trained by the Guard Captain we saw in the forest earlier this morning. They have to change them out every twenty years or so, to stamp on any growing suspicions about them, so they send the youngsters who want to branch out and see a bit of the world." He shrugged. "It would look a little odd if the monarchy used the same people for thousands of years, eh? Dean, do close your mouth, there's a good chap."

I spluttered a few times before finally saying "But… if you took the throne, werewolves could end up ruling the planet! We could protect humans much more effectively!"

"And that's precisely why we can't," he answered, sadly. "Archimedes was right about one thing: we are faster, stronger and, in many cases, far smarter than humans. But our egos are also vastly bigger. Do you see where I'm coming from, Dean?"

I blinked.

Yeah, I saw it alright.

We wouldn't stand still at merely ruling over humans. Eventually, there would be too many of us, all immortal and with too much strength, all battling against each other and squabbling for power. Humans would get caught in the middle of all the wars and suffer greatly at our hands.

It had happened once before, thousands of years ago, between werewolves and vampires, and I remember Sire telling Sam and me about it just after Sam's first change, when Gordon Walker had become an even greater threat to us by being turned into a vamp. (See previous journal entry).

We weren't meant to rule. We're here to serve humans, not the other way around.

Unfortunately, there were non-lunars out there, both of Types One _and_ Two, who had very different opinions on the matter.

A warm hand on my neck drew me out of my thoughts.

_I can see you understand. We're here to protect humans, not enslave them._

We stood at the window in silence, sipping our brandy, and occasionally glancing over at the bed. Sam hadn't moved and his eyes still glowed purple, but he at least looked comfortable and warm for the first time since I found him chained to that damn tree.

I took the opportunity to look around the room.

It was huge, and held that ornate masculinity which is somehow elegant, but manages to easily escape full on Gaylord proportions. The high ceilings were exquisitely decorated with murals of wolves in various states of change. It should have looked creepy, but it just _wasn't_. Instead, I thought it was rather moving, seeing the wolf gradually emerge from the human form.

The rest of the room contained a few pieces of dark oak furniture and the walls were lined with books, tapestries, several beautiful broadswords, and two crossed longbows over the fireplace. Anywhere else, and it might have seemed cluttered, but this place looked cosy and homely.

There was another door that I hadn't spotted until now, right next to the main entrance. It was slightly ajar, and beyond it I spied a stone, spiral staircase.

"That leads to the observatory," Sire remarked. "And two other bedrooms. This…" he waved a hand around to encompass the entire building. "Was my quarters once, but after I left, again, Marcus insisted on keeping it for me, in case I changed my mind and decided to come back." He chuckled, a little sadly it seemed to me. "And I can see that he hasn't changed a thing."

"Yeah, what's that all about?" I asked, quietly but without judgement, just curiosity. "You turned down pack alpha? To hit the road?"

Tobius sighed deeply.

"That's a little complicated, so I'll try to sum it up for you..."

The pack was originally from France, just outside of Anjou, where Sire lived as a human.

He'd accidentally interrupted a hunt and been bitten by the angry Alpha, who later, after an attack of guilt, took him under his wing and publicly, to the pack anyway, claimed Tobius as his Beta, son and heir. Marcus, Crowley and Castiel came along a short while later.

It turned out that Sire's human family had been pretty high up in the echelons of Royal society, so high up that his daddy was actually the King of England and France. And when they found out what had happened to their beloved prince and heir, he was officially declared dead by human law, though they continued to regard him with love and fondness. Even today, Tobius' place in Royal Family history is poorly documented in human records, if at all, 'cos I'd sure never heard of him.

But the Royal Family owed their own allegiance and loyalty to the pack, for reasons lost to the dim and distant past. These reasons extended to most of the royal families of Europe, as it happened, and at that time they were the only humans on the planet who knew about non-lunars. They were only permitted to live provided they kept their mouths shut, so there were no recriminations over Sire's change.

Instead, Tobius was allowed to keep his title as an honorific, and even given a new one, the title he would have gained if he'd been human and succeeded the throne. (Ya know, minus _King)_ But he was only allowed to use it within pack and palace territory, so the next human in line, his younger brother, could take the throne of England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales, and, as a consequence, most of France (at the time) under the Duchy of Normandy, hence the Duke status.

These days, the Duchy only covers the Crown dependencies, such as the Channel Islands, but it's still a pretty impressive title.

Sire only touched very briefly on the love of his life, claiming that he'd met Lady Anna Le Masurier in Italy one summer, and it was the best summer of his life.

His eyes were so clouded with sadness that I didn't have the heart to push him any more on this. Instead, he skipped right over it.

After Anna died, Tobius lost all interest in pack life. So he left France and didn't return again for another hundred years. During this time the pack Alpha was killed by an assassin while paying a diplomatic visit to the King of Portugal, and Tobius unwillingly ascended to the seat of Alpha. But after finding the assassin and administering pack justice on the bastard, so disheartened by life in general and the loss of his Sire and mentor in particular, he turned the seat down in a rare move known in wolf lore as '_tachhmech_'(pronounced _tack-mesh_)_, _from an ancient and defunct _Were_ language, loosely translated as 'volunteer to unseat'. In the wake of Tobius' abdication, a reluctant Marcus took the seat as Regent Alpha, a kind of stand-in, if you will, and promised to keep the pack safe in Sire's absence. Marcus never gave up his belief that Tobius was the best Alpha for the job, and that he would one day step up.

"It's what makes Marcus perfect for the job," Sire remarked, fondly. "He puts his pack first, before his own ambitions and aspirations to power." He shook his head, smiling distantly. "Now _that's _what makes a good alpha, yet he never sees it within himself, just how special he really is...and he _should_."

At that point, Tobius cast me an odd, pointed look. "_Reminds_ me of someone, actually..." he smiled, knowingly, then shook his head slightly and carried on with his personal history.

Tobius moved aimlessly from country to country, not even sure of what he was looking for. Eventually, he came to settle in London and remained there for several hundred years.

Sensing a turning of the tide in Europe, and an unsettling feeling of pending doom with the rise of a certain Corsican asshole, Marcus upped sticks, packed up the family china and moved the pack to Canada, out of harms way.

Less than a year later, when the pack was still settling down in their new home, the Napoleonic wars began, tearing Europe apart at the seams.

Little wonder it was sometimes referred to as the _original_ First World War, huh?

"You know about most of my time spent in London, long before Napoleon came on the scene," said Sire, pouring some more brandy. "Finding and rescuing Archy during The Great Fire of London, and afterwards trying to hunt the murdering bastard down."

Following a long, hard trek across the globe, Archy disappeared, leaving Sire angry and bitter with resentment.

Many, _many_ years later, after having fought in both world wars, he joined the SAS and rose to one of the highest commissioned ranks in the British Special Forces. Not long after that, he met Mary Winchester, my mother, and it was her influence that really put Sire on his current path, of protecting humans by hunting down the strays.

"I headed back up to the Canada Pack around the time you were born, to set up the NLSU."

I got the feeling he was holding something back, but carried on listening in hopes he'd fill me in when he was ready.

Marcus was in full support of Sire's idea about the Non-Lunar Special operations Unit; anything to protect pack integrity and keep non-lunars off human radar. He asked Tobius again if he wished to take his place as Alpha, but Sire's course in life had already changed so much, it just didn't seem right to take it.

Instead, Tobius called a state meeting, inviting Queen Elizabeth II to officially declare Marcus as Pack Alpha. It had never been done before, asking a human to perform such an honour, and it set a brand new precedent in pack lore throughout most of the world.

Some _**Were **_against the move and left the pack altogether, claiming it an insult to the pack elders who would traditionally make the declaration, and that it was just another attempt to revive the long dead British imperialism by a vastly different route. But others, wolves with greater foresight, realised the wisdom of cementing relations between the throne and its' former heir.

A new era dawned, the pack was at its healthiest and happiest, and the Royal Family remained in tight and friendly allegiance, visiting whenever they came to Canada. _Were _packs throughout the world, even as far away as the Great Pack of North Korea, were at peace for the first time in centuries...

_Good heavens! _Tobius announced, suddenly, looking at his Rolex. _Where has the time gone?_

I realised he was right. We'd been talking all morning and well into the afternoon. Already, the wintry sun was beginning to turn a deep, eye catching orange and embarking on its' descent into evening.

_I'll go check on Sammy,_ I got up and stepped over to the bed, my mind reeling with too much information.

_Are you alright, Dean? _Sire asked, gently.

_Yeah, just a little shell-shocked is all. _I replied, with a shaky smile. _Not everyday you find out you're related to Royalty._

He nodded and chuckled lightly. _I know. And I'm sorry to have sprung this on you so suddenly. My intention was to tell you all about it __**before**__ you met the pack. We were to stop off in a nice little hotel, not far from here, so I could give you both the chance to decide if you were really ok with meeting them. They are a little different to the Home Pack, and much larger._

_No kidding. _A thought struck me. "So, this was where you were bringing us all along?" I asked out loud. "This was the safe place we were heading for? Wow!"

Tobius chuckled again. "Yes, a little sooner than I'd planned, however." He came to stand beside me, and smoothed a hand tenderly over Sam's head. "Thanks to our little trouble maker here."

I snorted. "Little? Dude, he's taller than you, now!"

Tobius smiled. "And yet, to us, he'll always be the little puppy who stood in front of a mirror after his first change, and complained that he looked 'ridiculous'."

"Yeah, I remember that," I said, softly, gazing down at my beautiful son. "God! I know I keep saying it, but he's been through so damn much…"

"And he'll keep on bouncing back," said Sire, confidently. "He always does."

"Hello?" Dave's muffled voice followed a soft knock on the door. "Anyone at home?"

"C'mon in," I called out to the Fred Weasely lookalike.

The Doc poked his head round the door, and saw us standing over Sam.

"Hope I haven't interrupted anything?" he asked, politely. "Sam needs his evening dose, before another seizure sets in."

"By all means, do come in," said Tobius, graciously, and pulled up a couple of chairs from the computer desk.

Fre... _Dave_ nodded and smiled at Sire and me, while giving each of us a firm hand shake in greeting. I tried my hardest to grin benignly and _not_ stare at the door in anticipation.

Seriously! Though he was a little taller, the more time I spent in his presence, the more I wanted to call him _Fred_, and ask after his brother _George!_

"Now, let's see how he's getting on," the Doc muttered away to himself, oblivious to my inner turmoil. He began checking the kid's pulse, blood pressure and fixing up another syringe of the Sleepworm. "I've stepped this down a notch, so I would advise keeping a strict eye on him for the next few hours, just to see how he reacts. In fact, I can stick around until about ten pm, if you'd like? Give you a chance to get out and go for some fresh air... maybe a hunt?"

He looked up at us, expectantly.

"I don't know…" I began, casting a worried glance Sam's way, but Sire nudged me into silence.

"That's very kind," he said. "Dean and I could both use some time to stretch our paws. If you're sure you'll be ok with Sam here?"

"Absolutely!" said the Doc, with a big friendly grin. "It'll do you both the world of good. And it will give me time to set up a decent line in Sam's arm."

He must have seen the angry look on my face, because he hurried to explain.

"Sam is going to need several daily doses of Sleepworm, so it will be quicker and easier on him if I can just administer the stuff via a line, rather than trying to push it straight from syringe to vein," he added, tentatively "Is that ok with you?"

"That's perfect," Tobius cut in, before I could answer, and started herding me towards the door. "We won't be long."

"Take your time," said the Doc, waving us away. "Oh, and visit Cook, if you get the chance. She's got some new recipes she wants to try out on you, and she said she'd be after you with a spoon if you don't drop in and see her while you're here." He grinned, cheekily. "Her words, not mine."

I left without a word but once we were outside, I rounded on Sire.

"What the hell was that?"

He actually blinked at me.

"What was _what_, exactly?"

I pointed at the door.

"_Us_, leaving Sam all alone with a _total stranger_?"

"He's not a stranger, Dean," Tobius answered in a serious, quietly commanding tone. "He's the pack doctor, and as such holds a position of respect almost equal to the Alpha himself."

That shut me up, and put me well and truly in my place. Fast.

Recognising the signs of my Alpha's absolute authority, I nodded hesitantly. "Fair enough."

It's not often Sire pulls rank like that but when he does, it's for good reason. If he trusted Dave the Doc with Sam's life, then so did I.

Tobius grinned. "Now, let me show you around…"

_**TBC...**_

_**1) Absolutely no offence is meant to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II or, indeed, any of the royal family's of Great Britain and Europe. **_

_**This is merely a work of fiction, meant for entertainment and nothing more.**_

_**2) I know some of you must be missing Sam's input at the moment, but I promise that he'll be back with us soon. There is a purpose behind all this, I assure you.**_

_**3) Do I really need to reaffirm the historical references situation here? Surely, most of you know enough about history to understand what's bullshit and what ain't?**_

_**4) Keep up with those reviews... some of you are starting to slack off! Not good enough! You think I'm doing this for my health? **_

_**Time to step up, people! Clickety Click that review button and show me some luuurve!**_

_***grins cheekily***_

_**Love and hugs,**_

_**ST x**_


	7. Chapter 7

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 7**

**Introducing James Purefoy as Marcus, Lord Alpha of the Canadian pack.**

**You might remember him from his portrayal of Mark Anthony in HBO's Rome; he has also starred in Solomon Kane, Resident Evil, **

**and played the Black Prince in A Knight's Tale. **

**And just because I love you all so much, I have thrown in another much loved character last seen in season one.**

_**Now…**_

"**That place was huge," Sam comments, chewing absently on a piece of lettuce. "I remember when you guys showed me around later. And it was a completely different way of life to the Home pack."**

"**Better or worse?" asks Tobius, watching his boys with amusement.**

"**Not better, as such," replies Sam and glances at Dean.**

"**Not worse either," Dean nods in agreement. "Just… _different_, I guess. Though, the Canadian Pack at least gets HBO Afterdark."**

"**One is nomadic, stays as far away from mankind as it can get, and kind of still lives in the Stone Age," says Sam, deliberately ignoring the HBO comment. "But the other has kept in touch with the rest of the world all these years, and moved with it."**

"**And if you could choose…?" Tobius raises an eyebrow. One gets the impression he already knows the answer, but he's interested regardless.**

"**Neither," Sam and Dean answer together.**

"**Well, I wouldn't mind spending a little quality time with either pack," says Dean, seriously. "They are family, after all. The Home Pack are great outdoor wolves, cunning, loyal, and would give their lives for each other. Their pack outlook is uncomplicated: eat, sleep, mate, keep each other safe, move on. They're happy, so long as the rest of the world leaves them alone. The Canadian wolves? Different story. They're almost domesticated, but in a good way. They have a lot we can learn about pack politics and the history of werewolves, and I know Sammy here spent some hours in the archives with all those historical scrolls." He shrugs. "And Castiel is pretty cool, once you get to know him."**

"**Once you get use to his… ways," Sam wrinkles his nose in amusement. "But Dean's right about the Canadian Pack. Their impact on the human world is almost as great as the human world's influence is on them." He takes a sip of soda. "They just don't go blabbing about it, and mankind remains safe and ignorant."**

**His smile turns soft and affectionate. "But, I like where we are now. Just us three, caught somewhere in the middle of both packs, maybe, able to return to either from time to time,just to say hello and let them know we're still alive, but we remain independent from them, and moving around when, and where, we're needed."**

"**Semi-nomadic non-lunars," Tobius nods slowly. "I think we've just named our pack-type."**

"**Huh?" Dean gazes at his Sire, quizzically.**

"**The Home Pack are nomadic, the Canadian Pack are static," said Sam, warming to the idea. "We are semi-nomadic."**

"**Semi-nomadic," Dean says it slowly, as though savouring it. Then he nods. "I like it!"**

**He chuckles and leers at the camera. "Semi-nomadic… Sounds vaguely dirty!"**

**Sam throws a piece of tomato at him, but Dean turns his head, elongates his mouth into a snout, and virtually snaps the morsel out of the air.**

"**You're gonna have to get up earlier than that, dude," he says, chewing the tomato with relish, his snout morphing back to human.**

**Sam shakes his head, laughing.**

_**Then…**_

Castiel was patiently waiting for us outside, standing quiet like a sentinel, watching the gardens with narrowed eyes.

"Good evening, brother, nephew," he announced, gracefully, without turning his head. "I'm to escort you to dinner."

Tobius paused to study him. "Will Marcus be there?"

Castiel did turn and face him then. "He will be along later. Said that he wouldn't miss Cook's latest experiment for anything, nor would he miss seeing his favourite brother on his return from the world."

I glanced sharply at his face. There was no expression, no hint that Tobius being the favourite sibling bothered him at all. In fact, he seemed at peace with the idea. There was even a faint smile of brotherly fondness, his eyes a little bright with genuine affection.

Whatever else Castiel was, no matter how quiet and weird; he loved his brothers.

"In that case," said Tobius, patting Castiel on the shoulder. "Let's not keep Cook waiting. Believe me when I tell you that woman is positively lethal with a spoon, so it wouldn't pay to piss her off."

Castiel seemed a little surprised at the expletive but said nothing.

"Uh…" I still wasn't sure about leaving Sammy, yet I didn't want to appear disobedient or rude towards my Sire and father in front of another pack subordinate. "Just for a little while, maybe?" I pleaded.

Sire's eyes softened. "Just long enough to eat and be sociable, then we'll both return to Sam, I promise."

That was good enough for me.

Now, eat your heart out Adam Richman, and let me tempt you with _this..._

The kitchens were incredible. Three walk-in cold rooms, each easily the size of a public library, housed enough meat, fish and veg to cater to the whole pack's needs.

They were restocked at 5am sharp every Monday morning.

The meat came in fresh from the cattle ranch just inside the north wall, the fish came from the farmed lakes next to it, and the vegetables, comprising mostly of potatoes, carrots, suede and turnip, came from the fields next to the wheat.

In case you were wondering, the Canadian pack holds some four thousand wolves, including the families who live independently outside the wall, though remain loyal to and considered a major part of the pack. That figure also includes the young wolves chosen to guard the English Royal Family, or other royalty scattered throughout Europe and the rest of the world.

Then there are the scholars among them who, like Sam, wanted to study higher education. Some of these kids headed to places like Oxford, or Cambridge, in the UK, while others stayed on this side of the Atlantic, mainly keeping to the North in order to be closer to home.

There were even one or two immigrants from the Home pack, who had decided to live in closer proximity to humans. In return, some of the older wolves of the Canadian pack retired to go and live with Lucas and his family. Every so often, several times a century, both packs would get together for what Tobius termed "a right jolly knees up". The families would take it in turns to host the gathering, choose the time and place, and send word a few months beforehand.

But I digress.

Back to business...

There were also three walk-in freezer units, even bigger than the cold rooms, along with six massive storage silos for grain. On top of that, you had the dairy rooms. Ten of them, filled to the rafters with some of the best homemade cheeses the pack had to offer, along with some imported brands, mostly from France and Germany. Milk, a werewolf's favourite non-alcoholic drink, was stored at the back of the dairy rooms in large vats that were filled from an access pump on the outside wall.

And _that_ was just the start of it.

Now on to the actual cooking area.

Think of the Roman Coliseum, and you might get some idea of the vast size of the place.

There wasn't a single shelf without old fashioned copper pots and pans dangling from it, and there were several huge Aga-style cooking stoves right at the back, each around half the size of a Challenger tank.

The only piece of equipment that might have been called modern was an elderly looking food processor that had seen better days. It was monstrous, and took up half the middle work top. But seeing as the entire room was decked out with around ten of these scarred, old, wooden work benches, I doubt anyone was complaining.

All light was natural during the day, with the sun shining down from sunrise to sunset through high-arched, gothic looking, stain glass windows. Like Tobius' quarters, and the ornamental gardens I'd seen earlier, the dancing wolf theme was a predominant feature here, casting multi-coloured wolf shapes across the entire room. It looked strange, but kind of nice.

At night, massive, black, wrought iron chandeliers, hanging down from the high ceilings, were lit up with natural wax candles – which, I was reliably informed, were also made on site.

I spied at least twenty non-lunars chopping, marinating, basting, sautéing, baking, you name it, whatever the hell it is chefs do that makes food taste so damn good, and suddenly understood where Sire got his passion for cooking from. The smells were tantalizing enough to make my mouth flood with saliva, and I barely bit back a growl of appreciation when a platter of roast duck, pork, lamb and beef marched past me, seemingly on its own, drifting in mid air.

Mystified, I looked a little more closely, and realised it was being carried by the shortest, most bad tempered looking guy I'd ever seen. Seriously, his scowl would have soured sour cream.

"That's Pierre. His food is amazing, don't get me wrong," Sire murmured, quietly. "But, except to compliment him on his dishes, do not talk to him. He really is an obnoxious little tit with very little personality." He snorted. "And don't think you can take him in a fight. He might be a short arse, but the bastard's got a kick like a mule."

The sly grin on Sire's face suggested that he was only half joking.

But that roast meat platter was calling out to me. I stared after it mournfully, wondering if the little guy would notice if the duck was suddenly and mysteriously missing a leg, or a wing…

_Don't do it, pup, _Sire warned, obviously amused. _Save your appetite for Cook. Now, her food really __**is**_ _something to behold._

He grabbed my arm and gently escorted me along after the silent and brooding Castiel.

Absolutely everyone was busy in this place. Not a single person was idle, and anyone that looked like they were even _remotely_ considering an escape from their duties were soon handed another set of tasks.

But everything, and everyone, was perfectly well coordinated, like watching a dance. You've seen some of those celebrity chef shows, right? Like, All Stars? Well, these non-lunars would have put them to shame. On All Stars, they fight and scrabble for ingredients, and blame each other when something goes wrong.

But not here.

In _this _kitchen, everyone knew their place, their purpose, and they all knew exactly when to execute that purpose. Any sense of competition, or attitude problems, were deemed selfish, and quickly and fiercely stamped on. _Food _was the only priority. Childish arguments and personality clashes were resolved with a hard slap to the side of the head by a team mate, and a sharp reminder that they were on the clock and being watched.

These guys not only defined the term 'teamwork', they practically invented it.

And I was about to find out how...

"Well, I'll _be_!" a loud, high pitched, feminine voice practically screeched across the kitchen and echoed off the stained glass windows. "Toby Le Salle, in the flesh at last! Where the _hell_ you been all these years, baby?"

Everyone stopped what they were doing for about a nanosecond, then carried on as though nothing had happened.

Tobius appeared to cringe at the nickname, and I bit back a laugh.

Some years ago, when we were celebrating Sammy's birthday, the poor kid got completely shitfaced. We had to carry him back to the cabin from a local bar, and all the time he was saying how much he loved us, and calling his grandfather "Tobeeeey!" of which I took some pleasure reminding Sire that very same night.

Sire had threatened us with violence if we ever called him that again, so to hear it being yelled out across a large kitchen of busy chefs was quite the treat. Especially by a short, plump, homely looking, African-American she-wolf, carrying a wooden spoon, and wearing a sweet, bright smile stretching from ear to ear.

Tobius pulled himself together and smiled back, his green eyes twinkling with pleasure. With a small bow, he stepped forward, grasped the woman's palm, bent low, and delivered a gentlemanly kiss to the back of her hand.

"Missouri," he murmured, voice a soft drawl, charming as always. "My dear Cook. It's been a long time."

Missouri, or Cook, appeared to almost swoon, but she soon put him well and truly in his place, with a swift _thunk_ to the back of his head with her spoon.

"Ow!" Sire rubbed his wound, frowning petulantly. "Cook…"

"You're darn right it's been too long!" she huffed, and placed her hands on her hips, indignantly, reminding me a little of Jose the werebear whenever she scolded us. "Boy, it's been at least thirty years since I last saw your cute ass! What happened? You forget we exist? Honey, I thought you clear dropped off the face of the planet!"

Missouri reminded me of an angry hen, the way her short, curly hair and large hang down earrings seemed to wobble slightly with each movement.

Sire grinned and swept her up in a big hug, ignoring the way her meaty fists drummed weakly against his back in protest.

_I apologise, dear lady. It was rude of me to abandon you for so long without word,_ said Tobius soothingly, brushing a hand through her hair.

Credit where it's due, though the cook was fighting it, I could see she was falling victim to his charms.

_Allow me to introduce you to my son. _He put her down and grinned again. _Dean? This is my most favourite chef of all time. She taught me everything I know about cooking._

He stepped back and winked at me over her head.

Then she turned and fixed me with a deeply penetrating stare. It also went on way too long, beyond the realms of comfort. All I could do was stand there and grin my most charming grin, hand held out invitingly. But she ignored it and carried on staring.

_Hmmph! _She said at last, hands back on hips, still scrutinising me. _You're a handsome, kid, I'll give you that. And while you're lusting after Pierre's platter, it's a plain, old fashioned, bacon double cheeseburger that haunts your dreams, boy, huh?_

I stared at her, mouth hanging open, and quite possibly drooling.

_C'mon,_ she said, suddenly smiling kindly, and indicating I should follow her with a quick jerk of the chin. _I'll fix you something extra special. You're gonna need all the strength you can get if you wanna help Sam._

Embarrassingly, I found myself trailing after her, all wide eyed and hopeful, with Sire and a faintly amused Castiel following on.

_So you told her all about us, huh Sire? _I asked, plainly.

_No. _Came the surprising answer. _I didn't need to. She saw us coming, before __**we**__ even knew to hit the road for Canada. She's known all about you and Sam for a long, long time._

_Huh? _I answered dumbly.

_Her name is Missouri Mosely, Dean. She's a psychic, and knew John Winchester, albeit very briefly. He went to her for help just after your mother was killed. Missouri was visiting a friend down in Lawrence, Kansas at the time. _Sire sounded a little guarded, and I wondered about that. _Take my advice; don't ask her about him. She really didn't think too much of the man._

I'm not sure _anyone_ thought much of him. Least of all me.

And now that Sire mentioned it, her name did seem kind of familiar. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realised I'd met her once before, when I was just a small kid and still traumatised from the fire that took my mom.

Shaking off the distant memory, I rationalised that I had more pressing matters at hand right then.

Food. I was _starving._

Lucky for me, Missouri made the most exquisite burger I have ever, _ever_ tasted. A half pound of lean burger patty, spiced up with something Cook refused to divulge, six rashes of crispy, Danish back bacon, thick slices of melted mature cheddar, juicy tomato and fresh lettuce, hot English mustard, home made ketchup, and rounded off with a large, tasty pickle.

Oh, and a side of onion rings, each one the size of my hand!

I was in heaven, and ruined for life. I'd never be able to enjoy diner food in quite the same way again, not while I knew this taste-sensation _heaven_ existed.

Seated at a big, old, pine table at the back of the kitchen, we were still chowing down, and I was on my second burger, when the room fell silent.

Not even a muttered thought projection could be heard.

Tobius and Castiel quietly stood up.

_Uh… _I chewed and swallowed as quickly as decency allowed. _Something I should know?_

Tobius was staring straight ahead, a fond, enigmatic smile on his face.

_The Alpha is here, Dean._

_Oh! _I rose to my feet, as gracefully as I could manage with ketchup on my chin. _That's cool. Wondered when we'd get to meet him._

Sire's mouth twitched, then he stepped around the table towards a guy who actually looked a little older than Sire by a couple of years – but I guess that comes with the responsibility of such a huge pack. Like Tobius, he was good looking enough, a half inch shorter maybe, but no less imposing.

Head slightly tilted downwards, as though he appeared to be frowning at me, his eyes were brown but glowed the same green as mine and Sire's in the evening light.

My first impression: This was a guy you didn't cross and if by deed or misfortune you managed to, you might just not live to regret it.

I looked up into the intense gaze of the Canadian Pack Alpha.

Who stared back, quietly assessing in a manner so hauntingly familiar it almost took my breath away.

_Oh, he's your brother alright, Sire,_ I whispered. _You both went to the same school of 'who can stare the hardest and longest'._

_Shut up, Dean,_ but Tobius' mouth twitched in amusement.

Suddenly, the Alpha graced us with a dazzling smile and held his arms open, the universal invite for a welcoming hug.

"Brother," said Marcus, his voice, strong, rich and deep, hinted at the same upper class English accent as Sire's. "Welcome home."

The affection with which he enfolded my Sire in his embrace was genuine.

In an instant, the big, intimidating Alpha was gone, and in his place stood a little brother who'd desperately missed his big brother.

He closed his eyes tightly, and held on as though never wanting to let go of Tobius, and it kind of reminded me of the way Sam had clung to me all those years ago, when we rescued him from an abusive John Winchester.

The Alpha released Sire and they patted each other on the back.

Sire looked pleased to see his kid brother again, but he stepped back to allow the Alpha to address me.

Marcus bowed slightly.

_I am truly honoured to meet you, young Dean. Your Father writes to me often about your exploits, and about Sam. _He tilted his head, eyes half closed, as though he were assessing me all over again. _And it's an even greater honour to serve as host to your upcoming prime._

_Really? _I raised an eyebrow in _complete_ surprise.

Judging by the flash of guilt across Tobius' face, and the way Castiel shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot, it had been planned for a while now.

_It was meant to be a surprise, brother._ Tobius seemed faintly disgruntled but I doubted he was going to hold it against Marcus.

Marcus, for his part, looked a little startled, then immediately contrite.

"I do apologise," he said, with another slight bow, sounding genuinely regretful. "I hope I haven't spoiled things for you."

"Not at all," I answered, graciously. "The honour is all mine."

Marcus broke out that dazzling smile again, swiftly stepped forward with his arms open, and I found myself subjected to an affectionate, yet very manly hug, complete with manly slap on the back.

A slap that nearly sent me flying. Man, that dude is strong!

"Now, you boys sit down and eat!" Missouri, with her mother-hen ways, managed to reduce two tough, fierce, pack Alphas to mischievous little boys with just seven words, and by God it was hard not to laugh at the way Tobius rolled his eyes at Marcus.

Marcus just grinned with that wonderful trace of Big Brother worship that I still sometimes get from Sammy.

_Uh, now that the introductions are over,_ I said, trying not to sound too eager to get away. _I really want to go check on Sam._

Tobius nodded and made a move to follow but I held him back with a hand on his chest.

_Dude. You guys haven't seen each other in a long time. I'll send for you if there's any change._

_No. Reunions can wait, _he said, gazing apologetically at his brothers. _We've been gone long enough._

"Of course," said Marcus, nodding. "Your grandson needs you. But... may I come along? I've heard so much about the pup, and I'd like to be there... for what it's worth?"

It seemed strange that the Alpha felt the need to ask permission on his own turf, but I appreciated the gesture anyhow.

"Thanks, that'd be great," I said, feeling a lump forming in my throat. The Alpha sounded so kind and concerned, I didn't have the heart to tell him no.

"Well, in that case," Cook held out several packages of grease proof paper. When the hell she had time to wrap up the remaining delicious burgers, I'll never know, but she must have moved quick as lightning. "Here. Make good and sure you eat every scrap, now, ya hear? And stop by again soon, Tobius! Don't make me take out my spoon again!"

"Oh, I can assure you, dear lady," Sire murmured with a wink and another gentle kiss to her hand. "I intend to."

Marcus watched his older brother with a faintly sad smile, as though he'd seen this harmless flirting all before, but was just remembering it for the first time in ages.

By the time we said goodbye to Cook, and filed out of the vast kitchen into the grounds, the sun had bled into the darkening sky, turning it deep shades of reds, oranges and fading away to deep indigo.

It was a short, but pleasant walk back to our quarters, with Tobius and Marcus quietly discussing Sam's situation, and Castiel still silent and watchful beside us, kind of like a dormant guard dog.

And that's when it struck me.

_Cas?_

Those strange blue eyes turned my way. _Yes, my nephew?_

_You're the Pack Beta, right? The Alpha's bodyguard?_

He full on grinned for the first time since I'd met him.

_I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out._

And he'd been right. It takes a beta to know one, after all, kind of like when I first met Cornelius of the Home pack.

Castiel was different from any non-lunar I'd ever met, but the signs were there, if one looked closely enough.

_Wait. _A thought occurred._ You're the guy Guiseppe…_

_Yes, but I prefer not to talk about it,_ he said, shortly. _I've already been scarred for life without discussing it with my nephew, of all people!_

I considered that for a second, and decided I agreed whole heartedly. It was a little too disturbing, even for me.

And just like that, Cas was straight back to quiet and brooding, but somehow I didn't think it was because of what I'd said. It was just the way he was.

When we walked in, Sam was sitting up in bed, back against the head board, those glowing purple eyes fixed and unseeing. Dave looked up and smiled warmly, his own eyes sparkling with good news, and pressing his stethoscope against Sam's chest, just over his heart.

"I was just about to call you," he said, quietly. "Dean, I think he's coming back already!"

"Really?" Marcus shouldered his way past us in the doorway, and stood, looming over Sam's bed. "That's astounding! I've never heard of any wolf recovering that quickly from Sleepworm addiction. Are you certain?"

"My Lord, Alpha. Apologies," Dave bowed his head slightly out of respect, but didn't move away from his patient. "Didn't see you there. But to answer your question, I'm as certain as I can be under the circumstances. And you're right. It is astounding."

I watched Sam's face carefully, but I was damned if I could see any difference. He still looked pale and sick, drugged up to the eyeballs like a zombie.

"What makes you think that?" I demanded, worry making me sound a little harsher than I'd intended. "He still looks like shit!"

"Come here," Dave motioned me to come forward and sit on the edge of Sammy's bed. "Now take his hand."

At first I felt nothing.

Then, gradually, I picked up on what felt like random twitches, minor muscle seizures or tremors, but after a few more seconds I realised it was something more.

It was actually a series of perfectly timed hand squeezes.

"It's Morse code," Dave added, helpfully. "The only way Sam can communicate with us."

I blinked rapidly, trying to control myself, once I figured out what he was saying.

Or, rather, who he was asking for.

_D-E-A-N._

Over and over again, never stopping.

"He's been like that for the last half hour, but I wasn't sure what it signified at first," said the doc, watched over us, still checking Sam's blood pressure and heart rate. "Thought it was just muscle spasms brought on by the withdrawal, and I was even preparing another dose of Sleepworm. Thank God I didn't give it to him!"

"How…?" I cleared my suddenly dry throat, and tried again. "How did you figure it out?"

"Back during World War Two, I was a communications officer," he smiled sadly. "Morse code became second nature to me, and I've never forgotten it. Once I realised Sam's spasms were perfectly timed, I had my answer."

"So, he's really trying to talk to me?" I asked, hesitantly.

"No way to be sure if Sam's cognisant enough at this stage to understand what he's doing, or if this is just natural instinct at work, to call for his sire and father," said Dave, gently. "Whatever else it is, this is a good sign for Sam's return, I promise you."

I just nodded, gratefully, unable to say anything more.

Reaching out, I palmed the kid's chin, tilting it, so I could gaze into his purple eyes.

_Don't know if you can hear me yet, Sam, but I'm right here with you. You're gonna be fine, dude..._

A hand on my shoulder made me look up. Marcus was smiling at me.

_He's a fine young man, just like his __**fatherbrother**__,_ the Alpha assured me. _And I look forward to spending time with you both, if you'll permit me._

My relief for Sam, that he would be back with me sooner than predicted, made me careless with my mannerisms. I gave the Alpha my best cocky grin, without even thinking about it.

_Aw, that's sweet. So long as you promise not to braid our hair or anything._

Had no idea why I said that. Maybe it's because the guy was so much like Sire, and because I felt at ease with him. But I nearly swallowed my own tongue when I realised what I'd said and witnessed the mild shock on Marcus' face.

_Oops. Sorry. _I offered with a shrug, not sure how else to mend things. _No disrespect meant and all that._

Marcus glanced over at Sire with a raised eyebrow. _I'll bet this one keeps you on your toes, brother,_ he deadpanned.

Tobius pursed his mouth and tried to look stern. _Oh, you better believe it._

Marcus nodded, eyes now glinting with mirth. _Well, I'll take my leave of you, Master Dean. I'll be back tomorrow to make sure you are both comfortable and have everything you need._

I wasn't sure what to make of this. _Uh… sure, dude. Looking forward to it._

Unable to contain himself any longer, Tobius snorted loudly with laughter. Marcus grinned and slapped me on the back again, this time nearly dislocating my shoulder.

With a final farewell, the Alpha headed out into the night, while Castiel just stood in the doorway, still watching the gardens, a slight frown on his face.

That was beginning to bug me, and I wasn't sure why.

Maybe it was because I got the feeling the Beta wolf wasn't just randomly scanning the grounds.

No. His intensity suggested that he was _expecting_ trouble of some kind.

"Right. I'll also be back in the morning," Dave announced, taking the hint and packing up his medical bag. "And, of course, you have the pager should anything untoward happen during the night."

Pretty soon it was just us and Castiel.

"Dude, you gonna stand there all night?" I called out and waved at him to come inside.

The Beta looked over at me and nodded. Then he moved out of the doorway, onto the top step, and closed the door behind him. But we could still sense his presence outside our quarters.

I shared a glance with Tobius. "He always like that?"

"Pretty much," said Sire, and began to undress. "He'll be there all night. For our safety."

He was wolfed out and snuggled up beside Sammy before his robe even hit the floor. After I turned out the lights, I soon joined them, though I kept my human form. Instead, I slipped beneath the furs and pulled Sam down into my arms, warming his chilled body.

_So, what's Castiel seen out there?_ I asked, still taking comfort from the quick, tiny squeezes to my hand, evidence Sam was still calling for me, over and over. It might have been kind of heart breaking, if not for the surge of relief it brought that I was finally getting my little _brotherson_ back.

_Castiel has always been extremely vigilant. _Sire explained. _He had a knack for it, even when he was a pup. However, I filled him in on everything; he is well aware of the dangers we face, and he knows John Winchester will show up here at some stage._

That was true. Even if he couldn't get in, he'd spend the rest of eternity staking the place out, trying to find the weak spots, and ascertain a point of entry. And, frightening as it seemed, he _would_ get in eventually.

Don't kid yourself . Even a place like this is not one hundred percent secure.

_Even if Marcus hadn't ordered him to watch our backs, _Sire added, _he'd do so anyway._

Tobius buried his nose in Sam's neck for a quick comforting lick – his way of saying 'I'm here too, Sam'.

_Family means the world to Castiel._

And that was good to know, but it left me with another question.

_Ok, but what about Crowley?_

_Ah, yes. Dear old Crowley. What can I tell you about him? _

Tobius sighed a huge doggy sigh.

_He's rather a law unto himself, that one. Has to do things his own way, in his own time, when it suits him. Don't get me wrong, if the pack is threatened then he'll man up and fight with the rest of us. _Tobius stared despondently ahead. _He's not a coward, exactly, but if it's not in his over all best interests, don't expect him to always come down on your side._

And that was really all I needed to hear.

Because that was 'Sire' talk for 'he's my brother and I love him, but I wouldn't trust the slimy little bastard as far as I could throw him.'

_**TBC...**_

_**Cheers my darlings. Don't worry; Sam is on his way back but I haven't made it easy for any of them.**_

_**Hope you all like the Canadian Pack Alpha...**_

_**Love ST xxx**_


	8. Chapter 8

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 8**

_**Now…**_

**The world appears to be moving, jolting and shaky. One might begin to feel a little sick because of it.**

"**Oh man, this is it!" Dean's voice calls out, and the watcher realises what all the movement is about.**

**The camera is riding inside the Impala, as becomes evident when the car pulls to a slow stop, and Dean appears in a sideways view, opening the car door.**

**Outside, a grizzled looking guy in a ball cap, and a smiling, grey haired priest, stand waiting next to an old pickup truck.**

**The audience should recognise this place. It's Tobius' cabin, and there's a large pile of wood set up outside the front in a kind of pit.**

**Snow has settled thick and deep all around, sparkling in the sun, like jewels.**

**Dean's grin widens. "Hey Bobby!"**

**Ball cap guy, Bobby, nods and eyes the young wolf with a soft smile.**

"**Dean. You're looking well," and attempts to bear hug the living daylights out of him.**

**As the camera moves out, the watcher realises that Sam is the one on the other end of the view finder, but we hear him call out instructions every now and then.**

"**Hey Dean! Turn to the side a little and let me get everyone in shot."**

**Tobius appears, regally shaking Bobby's hand and earning himself a tight hug. He turns to the priest and smiles warmly, also offering a hand.**

"**Pastor Jim Murphy. Good of you to come."**

**Jim presses his other hand over their linked hands, like a gesture of blessing.**

"**I wouldn't miss this for the world," he replies, beaming with pleasure.**

**The camera jolts a little, then becomes steady as a rock.**

**Sam appears in front, chestnut hair gleaming healthily in the sunlight, and a brilliant, sweet smile on his face.**

**It seems that the camera has been placed on top of the Impala's roof, filming the hunters' reunion. **

**Sam is swept into his own Singer hug, and the youngster's eyes are brimming over with love.**

"**Missed you, Bobby," he mutters, just loud enough for the camera to pick up.**

"**Aw, I missed you too, boy," the gruff hunter replies with a sniff, one hand gently cupping the back of the kid's head. He pulls back and stares hard at Sam for a long minute, gaze focussing on the kid's left arm in particular, then nods with satisfaction. "You're looking much better these days. A little skinny, but good."**

**Tobius grins. "Don't worry, Bobby. He's getting there. Dean's making absolute certain of that."**

**Dean throws an arm around Sam's shoulders.**

"**That's my boy," he says, softly, eyes shining with pride. "So, you ready for this Sammy?"**

**Sam huffs excitedly. "Ready as I'll ever be."**

**The watcher feels their excitement, as though something monumental is about to occur.**

**And it does.**

**Silent as a cloud, several large wolves step out of the surrounding trees, their ears twitching, and puffing great clouds of steam out of their snouts.**

**Their demeanour is more than just friendly. There's a great sense of love and respect here.**

**A magnificent beauty, with long dark hair, naked and in human form, appears in the midst of these wonderful creatures, and all the wolves bow at her feet as she passes by.**

**Bobby's bulging eyes suggest he thinks either he's dreaming, or died and gone to heaven.**

**She holds out a hand to Tobius.**

"**It's been a long time, Tobius," her voice sounds like silk, sliding over the senses, or a bubbling, crystal clear natural spring.**

**Tobius smiles with pleasure. "_Too_ long, Victoria, and that is my shame to bear," he bows and kisses her hand, then asks "And where is that old fart Lucas? I take it he's about somewhere?"**

**Her smile appears to be having a strange effect on Dean, who is almost swooning.**

"**Lucas sends his apologies for not greeting you himself, but the pups needed him," a small flicker of sadness crosses her face. "Things have not been the same since…"**

**She doesn't finish her sentence, just leaves it forlornly hanging.**

"**I'm sorry about Cornelius," says Sam, looking sad and miserable all of a sudden.**

**Victoria nods, obviously feeling for the younger wolf. "I know. Let us not speak of it for now. Be comforted that he's at peace, knowing we are all safe."**

**Dean's arm tightens almost imperceptibly around Sam, and something passes between the two of them. Something that carries the feeling of a father comforting his child, or a big brother consoling his little brother.**

**The digital audience may feel as though they've missed a great deal of this conversation, because the wolves are talking about events not yet discussed in Dean's video journals.**

**Clearly, that's about to change.**

**The wolves move forward into a circle, while Bobby sets about lighting a fire in the pit.**

"**Food will be served as soon as Lucas catches up," Victoria claps her hands, and two wolves in human form emerge from the cabin, carrying large platters of bread and pushing a trolley with a huge oak barrel. "In the meantime, I've been trying a new recipe for granary bread. Marcus sent on some marvellous blue veined cheese to go with it, and Lucas has tried out raspberry flavoured mead so, please, eat, drink, be merry, and tell me what you think…"**

**The sombre mood lifts in an instant and the wolves begin to mingle, chatting and murmuring with Tobius, Dean and Sam.**

**Pastor Jim and Bobby appear dumfounded, but pretty soon they are embroiled in a long conversation about woodcraft with one of the older members of the pack.**

**Dean watches them fondly, then he turns to the camera and smiles. "I guess I'd better carry on with the journal, before you guys climb right out of the lens and try to throttle me, huh?"**

_**Then…**_

_Dean… Dean… Dean…_

I raised my head and blinked. Sometime during the night, I had undergone a change without even waking up. To change form without realising it was one of the less common signs of stress, Tobius had once told me.

_Dean…Dean… Dean…_

_Sam? _I shook my head, rubbing my long ears against the pillows and animal skins, then stared long and hard at Sam, his body tucked against my soft underbelly. _Could swear I heard…_

_Dean… Dean… Dean…_

There it was. Faint, painfully weak, maybe, only just enough strength to be heard outside of sleep only, but Sam was calling for me and this time he wasn't using Morse code.

_Sammy?_

I shifted out from underneath the kid, almost dislodging Tobius from the bed.

_Wha? Grrrr… wha'timeisit? _Sire just managed to right himself. He snorted, grunted, and opened one eye, glaring at me balefully. I would have laughed but we had more important things to deal with.

_It's Sam. _I panted, excitedly, and gently swiped my tongue up Sam's ear. _I can hear him. I don't think it will be long now._

Nibbling delicately on the kid's lobe, I watched Tobius come hastily and fully awake.

_That's excellent news, _Sire snuffled into Sam's neck, eagerly breathing in his grandson's scent, just like he had the previous evening. _But try to be patient. It might be some time before he can hold his own head up, let alone hold a conversation._

_Don't care,_ I replied, _so long as he's getting better._

Tobius turned and leapt off the bed, changing in mid-flight. Grabbing his robe and wrapping it around him, Sire grinned.

"I'd best inform the good doctor of Sam's progress."

Instead of using the pager device Dave had given us, Tobius used the desk top computer to send a short internal email, then poured us both a brandy. In deference to my current form, he presented my brandy in a small bowl he'd pulled out of a desk drawer.

It was a welcome warmth, burning slowly down my throat and into my gut.

_Better?_ Sire raised an eyebrow, and relaxed into the leather, high-backed swivel chair behind the desk.

_Definitely, _I replied, swirling my tongue around my chops.

_Good. Now, drink it all up and go back to sleep, pup,_ said Tobius, kindly. _You obviously need it._

Sam twitched a little, his body shivering in the cool, early morning air despite all the animal skins, and his eyes were actually closed for the first time since I'd found him in the forests. This had to be good news.

_Dean…_

Once I'd lapped up every drop of brandy, I curled tighter around him, wrapping my huge tail over his legs, and burying my snout in the soft strands of hair at the base of his neck.

_Don't worry Sammy. I'm still here,_ I told him, snuffling gently.

Tobius watched over us while I fell back into another light doze, with Sam's weak voice whispering away in my head.

It was still dark outside, though the world was beginning to wake up. The sky was lightening by small degrees, and the crowing of an impatient and randy farmyard rooster could be heard somewhere off in the distance.

But it didn't disturb my rest. I slipped further away for a little while, warm and comfortable, until a familiar loud, booming voice woke me up.

"Good morning!"

Marcus was standing over us, feet shoulder width apart, hands on hips very much in a pose that reminded me of pictures I'd seen of Henry VIII.

_Wha…? _I blinked sleepily, and realised it was full on daylight by now. I had slept most of the morning away.

A big, good natured grin revealed an impressive set of white teeth and the Alpha leaned down to ruffle the fur between my ears.

I growled my contentment long and loud, pressing my head into his hand.

"Oh, and I should warn you about Dean," Sire spoke up from nearby. "Big, fierce wolf that he is, he turns to instant mush when you stroke his ears. Especially if you're female with large breasts. The great big tart!"

I _woofed_ indignantly and raised my head to glare across the room at Tobius, who merely grinned.

"You know I speak the truth, young pup," he said, a little too smugly in my view.

Marcus guffawed loud enough to wake the entire pack. Guy doesn't seem to do anything by halves.

"Splendid!" he announced, grandly. "Just like you then, Tobius." He whispered loudly to me "You know, your Sire still hasn't forgiven me for setting Big Fat Bertha on him when he turned forty…"

"Brother…" Tobius said, warningly.

"She had big breasts, too," Marcus carried on, ignoring Tobius and smiling wistfully.

"Marcus!" Sire took a step closer, scowling deeply.

"Of course, everything about her was big," said Marcus, barely concealing his mirth. "Thighs like tree trunks, a _real_ woman, not like the skinny bints you see in Hollywood today."

"I'm _warning _you, brother…"

"Bertha went on to marry the Beta from a Swedish pack in the end," mused Marcus. "Nice girl, cousin of ours."

Tobius shook his head in defeat.

"Scarred your Sire for life when she sat on his…_oof!"_

Tobius tackled Marcus to the floor. "You've asked for it, little brother. Prepare to suffer greatly…"

"Ahem! Am I interrupting something?"

Dave appeared in the doorway, trying his best to keep a straight face and failing miserably.

The two Alphas paused, stared at each other then, with as much dignity as they could muster, which wasn't much, slowly disentangled themselves and stood up.

"Morning, Dave," muttered Tobius, not meeting the other wolf's eye.

"Yes, yes, good morning to you," agreed Marcus, seeming a little flustered and looking away.

And I gotta admit, it wasn't something I was expecting, seeing two pack alphas have at it in a sibling squabble, baiting and teasing one another like children.

It was kinda cool.

"So," said Dave, and cleared his throat. Or, more likely, cleared away a smile. "How's the patient this morning?"

Things soon settled down while Dave checked Sam over.

"His eyes are closed. That's excellent. He's closer than we thought."

I stifled a yawn, and changed to human form while still under the furs, and stared down at Sam's passive features.

"How long do you think it will be before he wakes?" I must have asked that question a thousand times, but the doc didn't seem to mind hearing it again.

He smiled. "Give him a few more days, and we'll see."

Hours later, Dave had left, but the visitors kept coming.

First was Missouri, bringing a batch of chocolate fudge cake – my favourite.

Then Castiel dropped by, said hi and left. Just like that. Dude sure was weird.

Finally, Crowley appeared, grinning at me tucked in bed and cradling my son.

"Well, well, well. It's like Crufts revisited in here, eh?" he said, sauntering across the room. Without asking, he helped himself to Tobius' brandy. "What's with the puppy pile?"

Tobius growled softly from where he was lounging in wolf form across the bottom of the bed, while Marcus had been recounting some old hunting tales.

_Bugger off, and leave my brandy alone!_

_Oh, come now, brother_, Crowley took a long swig. _Share and share alike._

There seemed to be some deeper, hidden meaning behind that statement which I failed to grasp, but Sire sure didn't. He was up in a flash and attempting to pin Crowley up against the wall with his huge paws, but Marcus got between them before I could even blink.

"Enough!" he said, hands up and warding off Tobius, head swivelling from one wolf to the other. "The both of you! Crowley? Did you come here for a _genuine _reason? Or just to taunt Tobius?"

"That depends," replied Crowley. "Are the two mutually exclusive?"

Marcus drew up to his full height and loomed over him, while Tobius stood there growling softly, head lowered and eyes gleaming dangerously.

"Alright, alright!" Crowley backed off, hands raised in submission. "I just came to check on my nephew and his son. Make sure they're comfortable and have everything they need."

By this point he'd dropped the smarmy attitude, and his concern seemed genuine enough, but I paid heed to Sire's advice from the previous evening. As much as I kind of liked his sense of humour sometimes, I resolved to treat the guy with caution.

"We're fine," I said, respectfully. "But thank you."

Crowley nodded. "Just let me know. I can get you anything you like. From more chocolate fudge cake, to as much steak and eggs as you can eat," he leaned in and winked at me. "I can even get you a TV. We've got Tivo. Not that Tobius would know what the hell that even is. Probably try to cock his leg on it…"

"Crowley," Marcus' eyes narrowed, just as Tobius' snarled, baring his long fangs. "I'm warning you."

Crowley chuckled. "He knows I'm only kidding."

As if to prove his point, he moved passed his Alpha, approached Sire, and stroked a hand gently over his snout.

Tobius didn't move away or flinch, but he did sit there a little rigidly, as though he would have loved to snap at his brother, but held himself at bay to make a point all of his own.

"So, you see, we're only teasing each other," said Crowley, stroking Tobius' ears. Just for a moment, I could swear I saw his eyes flicker strangely before he looked over at Sam and me. "Gotta love brotherly love, huh?"

What happened next shocked the hell out of us.

Sam shot upwards out of bed, growling, snarling, and beginning an instinctive, partial change. Fingers morphing into claws, fangs lengthening, Sam went straight for a surprised Marcus, and ripped into his throat.

Tobius had rapidly changed into human form and I leapt up, shocked and scared.

_What the hell, Sire?_

_I don't know. Best guess? Crowley inadvertently stumbled upon the trigger for the rage spell, and it set Sam off._

_Shit!_

_Yes. Indeed._

Between us we wrestled Sam away from the Alpha, forcing him face down on the bed and pinning his hands behind his back. All the while Sam was snapping and growling, bucking against us, trying to get free.

In that instant, Castiel was in the room with Sergeant Fisher and two other guards.

The look on Castiel's face was one of horror, shock, and determination as he cradled his injured Alpha and brother in his arms. Marcus' eyes were wide open, one bloodied hand clutching at his throat, the other grasping Castiel's robe.

"Hold on, brother," Castiel whispered, desperately. "You're going to be ok, just hold on."

He looked up at me, and I was struck by the deep level of fear and remorse in his eyes. Still keeping his gaze on me, he called out an order to one of his guards.

"Sergeant Fisher," he said, but he looked at me with sympathy. "Place Sam under arrest."

"What?" I yelled, shocked. "No fucking way! No one comes near him, ya hear me?"

Tobius made sure I had a firm hold of Sam, then turned and stepped between us and Fisher.

The big guy looked regretful but ready to obey orders. Tobius on the other hand, wasn't about to assist him.

"Don't do it, Sergeant," he warned in a low voice. "Don't come near my pups, or I will kill you without hesitation."

"Tobius, please," said Castiel, getting to his feet, and gently handing Marcus over to Crowley. "It's just procedure. Until Sam is declared fit and well enough to stand trial, he must reside in the cells under armed guard…"

"Stand trial?" I roared, and felt my teeth lengthen, nearly biting into my lower lip I was so damned angry. "What the hell for? He wasn't in his right mind, for God's sake! He's been sick. Crowley must have used Sam's trigger word from when he was forced under with Sleepworm!"

"And that will be ascertained by a fair trial," said Castiel, quietly, eyes solemn and sad. "I'm sorry, but that is lore. Attempted murder of the pack Alpha is punishable by death. We have to be seen to follow procedure or the pack will rebel."

After a pause the length of a heartbeat, Tobius suddenly hung his head. "He's right, Dean."

I gaped, too shocked to utter a word, and only just noticed Crowley slipping silently from the room with Marcus.

Sire turned to face me and looked me right in the eye.

"If Marcus doesn't survive, it could split the pack down the middle. We cannot be responsible for starting a civil war. Too many would die." His sigh was deep and regretful, but he wasn't finished. He glanced over at Castiel. "However, in light of Sam's recent illness and forced addiction to Sleepworm, I request that he be allowed to stay here under house arrest, where his _fatherbrother_ and I will continue to tend to him."

Castiel tilted his head in consideration. "That is… reasonable."

"Thank you, brother," Tobius bowed his own head slightly in thanks, but that just made my blood boil all the more.

Castiel had something to add. "I must remind you that any attempts to leave the building, or escape the walls, will be met with instant death."

Tobius bowed his head again. "Understood. We won't be going anywhere."

I just stood there, my knee still on Sam's back, one hand holding his wrists captive and blinked stupidly a few times. The Beta gave a small, respectful bow and left the room, but paused to instruct two of the guards to take up their new posts outside our door on the top steps.

Sam was still wriggling and bucking my hold, and nearly managed to throw me off once or twice.

"Let's get him secured to the bed before he hurts himself," advised Tobius, anxiously.

In the end, we used our robe belts to tie him down, and it made me feel sick.

Well, holy shit. If ever I felt like the world was spinning out of control, then this was it.

The only other few times had been when John shot Sam when he was fifteen, and years later when Jake buried a silver sword in Sam's chest, nearly killing him.

But this?

This was some seriously jacked up shit.

Sam on trial for attempted murder? Or, full on murder if the Alpha didn't survive…

And, suddenly, a sixth sense struck up inside me.

"What if it wasn't an accident?" I said out loud, and Sire looked at me, eyebrows raised. "What if Crowley knew all along what the trigger word was?"

"That would be extremely difficult to prove," Tobius stated, frowning, but most notably not denying it.

"Think about it," I demanded. "Crowley was there when I found Sam. Why hadn't he set him free? Why wasn't he with Castiel, trying to free the other kids? He turned up, calm as you like. Hell, cocky bastard even lit a cigar! Yet he'd made no attempt to get the cuffs off Sam – his own great nephew. I'm telling you, it was a set up. This whole damn thing! You said it yourself, you wouldn't trust Crowley to come down on your side!"

Tobius looked distinctly unhappy with the idea, but nodded. "You're right. I don't like it, but you're right. But we still need more proof. What was the trigger?"

I thought about that. "What was the last thing he said? 'Gotta love brotherly love, huh?'"

Sam bucked violently, hissed and struggled anew. The robe belts pinched tight against his skin, so we held him still as best we could until he'd calmed down again. He panted and stared up at us, eyes filled with animal rage and fear.

"Some word in that statement," I said, excitedly. "But what? Love? Brotherly?"

No reaction. But Sam's eyes darted back and forth, like a trapped animal, desperately searching for a way out.

Tobius stared back at Sam. "Gotta."

Nothing.

"Love."

No reaction.

"Brotherly."

Again, nothing.

"Love."

Zilch.

"Gotta love brotherly love."

Nada.

Tobius huffed and shook his head. "This is impossible."

"It's got to be among those, somewhere," I persisted, anxiously. "Something in the way he said it, maybe."

Sire started shaking his head again, then suddenly stopped.

"No," he said, in a low voice. "It's not just one word, or a combination."

I stilled. "You mean…"

"Yes. You were right, Dean," Sire growled, angrily. "It's the whole statement, word for word. This was no accident."

Just to prove it, he leaned forward, hovering over Sam, and stared the kid right in the eye.

"Gotta love brotherly love, huh?" he whispered.

The effect was instant.

Sam went wild, hands clenching into fists, nails once again morphing into claws and damn near ripping his own palms to shreds.

"Crowley didn't just know the trigger," I exclaimed, with a thump to the mattress. "He fucking made it up!"

Sire nodded, eyebrows a deep V-shape.

"Agreed. It was a little too specific for Crowley to have muttered that sentence by pure accident," he said. "It's evidence enough. Castiel will have to clear Sam of the charges now."

We both stared down at Sam.

The kid was still squirming, hissing and spitting, and he wasn't really seeing us. His eyes still carried a faint sheen of purple, but it wasn't as strong as before. I wasn't sure what that meant for Sam. Kid seemed so lost and out of control and I didn't know how to help him.

"Dean, if Crowley is indeed behind all this," said Sire, quietly. "Then he's after the Alpha seat and using Sam as a stepping stone. When Crowley uttered the trigger, Sam didn't attack anyone else; he went straight for the Alpha. And as he's my grandson, the pack elders could force a vote of no confidence, preventing me from taking Marcus' place if, God forbid, he should die. And, chronologically, after me Crowley is next in line."

And a vote of no confidence would also take me out of the running for Alpha, not that I wanted it in the first place, anymore than Tobius did. But I was guessing that Tobius would gladly take the seat back than allow someone like Crowley to run the pack.

No doubt Crowley knew that, too. The bastard was cunning; I had to give him his due. Take out the Alpha, and any heir apparent with a rigged assassination attempt, followed by an execution, leaving himself totally blame free, and not a speck of blood on his own dirty little paws.

He could have used me instead of Sam. But we know he drugged my boy to force his change to human form. At the time of his kidnapping Sam was blind in human form, which meant Crowley would see him as the weakest member of our pack, and that made him the easier target.

From what Tobius had told me, if Crowley were allowed to have his say with the elder council, then the pack elders would frown upon Sam's attack, regardless of his state of mind. As co-head of the NLSU and a direct, firsthand witness to the incident Crowley would get _first_ hearing. They would declare Sam's actions as sacrilegious and condemn the poor kid outright.

We would have to get to the pack council first, and that meant going through Castiel before Crowley could sweet talk him around. Once we secured Castiel's support and he summoned the council, Sam would be in the clear and Crowley would, alternately, be well and truly in the shit for conspiracy to assassinate the pack Alpha, kidnap, torture, murder, illegal possession and use of Sleepworm, and the organisation of the fight arenas.

And, by now, we were pretty certain that Crowley _was _responsible for the arenas.

But there was just one problem.

"If Crowley finds out that we can prove Sam's innocence…" I trailed off.

Sire nodded. "Indeed. Crowley has too much to gain, and everything to lose."

Yeah. He would try and get to Sam some other way, but only over my cold, dead, furry body.

_**TBC...**_

_**Some of you have been great and keep on posting your wonderful reviews to encourage me. **_

_**But the rest of you? **_

_**You've had a friendly warning already and you've not taken it seriously.**_

_**Let me tell you, this has not been an easy ride for me.**_

_**I've sweated and stressed over this like you wouldn't believe, especially when some readers started hassling me for the 3rd book, over and over again, like I didn't have enough crap to deal with from my family and place of work, on top of health problems of my own.**_

_**So, 'Lurkers', listen up!**_

_**Clean up your bleedin' act!**_

_**Kind regards,**_

_**ST.**_


	9. Chapter 9

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 9.**

_**Now…**_

**Dean's frowning, eyes glowing a deep green, as he stares into the camera lens.**

"**If you're thinking that John Winchester was rapidly becoming the least of our worries, then you're quite wrong," he says, cryptically, and turns to Sam, who's sitting next to him, back against a log. "Can you pass me the mead, dude? Throats getting dry."**

"**Sure," Sam murmurs and happily obliges by pouring a rich looking berry red liquid from an earthenware flask into the wooden goblet sitting in front of his _fatherbrother._**

**Dean grins with red teeth and explains to the camera "Lucas turned up a little while ago with the pups, and brought more booze with him," he nods happily, grin a little cheesy. "Good job, too. We were running low!"**

**He places a finger against his lips, whispering "Ssssh," and points down. Sure enough, there's a wolf puppy curled in his lap, all cute, fuzzy baby fur and sharp, pointed ears.**

"**Remember Matthew and his brother Logan from the Home Pack?"**

**Sam has the other one, rolled on his back and draped over Sam's legs. He's a bit more awake than Dean's pup, and is busy playfully batting at Sam's nose. Sam gently teases the pup by morphing his snout in and out, but yelps when he receives a swipe from a tiny claw for his trouble.**

"**Ow!" he rubs his nose and mock glares at the pup who, as if sensing when it's time to quit, snuggles closer to Sam's chest and gives out a little puppy sigh of contentment.**

**Sam, of course, falls for it and turns into a big, sappy girl. "Aw!"**

**Dean shakes his head. "Seriously, Sam. You're gonna start growing a womb next time you change!"**

**Sam pulls the bitchface to beat all other bitchfaces. "Shut up, Dean."**

**A small half growl, that somehow sounds like a question, has Sam unstoppering the mead flask again.**

**Tobius is lying wolfed out beside Dean, lapping genteelly from a deep, wooden bowl. He looks up gratefully at Sam when he leans over and pours some more mead into his bowl. With a quick lavish lick of thanks up the side of Sam's face, the large wolf goes back to his beverage.**

**There are several wolves lounging around in the background, in both forms, along with the two human hunters, but they all appear attentive as the boys continue with their tale…**

_**Then…**_

In spite of how shitty things looked for us right then, there was one piece of good news to come out of it. We should have realised before, but our plates were already piled so high we wouldn't have noticed if a mortar bomb had gone off right in front of us.

Sam could _see_.

And as he came back from the brink, the purple glow faded and he seemed to be watching us, trying to figure out who we were, maybe.

By four o'clock in the afternoon, Sammy was gradually becoming more lucid. He seemed to calm down, and watched us with increasing recognition, but although he opened his mouth obediently to accept wolf's bane spiked water and small amounts of milk, he didn't say a word.

The wolf's bane managed to keep him from changing and prevented him from breaking his bonds, but we kept it at a low dose. Poor kid had been drugged up against his will enough times already.

By the time nightfall rolled around again, we were going stir-crazy from sitting there under house arrest all damn day, and not knowing whether Castiel had received any of Sire's desperate emails.

We couldn't run, there was no point. The guards stationed outside our quarters were some of the best in the NLSU, and they were just the start of it. Even if we got that far, we would still have to get passed the gates, and that most definitely wasn't going to happen.

Besides, with John Winchester out there searching for us, we were probably still safer here behind pack defences. Crowley, we could handle. A pissed off, demonised ex-father was another matter altogether.

But we also needed the doc. Worryingly, it soon emerged that Sam's addiction to the Sleepworm wasn't yet over. Although he was well on his way back, his body was still dependent, and it was suffering.

We woke up, in the darkest hour of the night, to Sam howling the place down.

"_Reeeoooowwwwwlllll!_"

It was the scariest, most heartbreaking noise I've ever heard coming from Sammy, and believe me I've heard a few. And even with the wolf's bane suppressing it, Sam's body was still trying to change.

The kid was bucking and kicking, fighting his bonds, which we'd replaced some hours before with white ace bandages, wrapped several times around his wrists and covered in iron manacles. It had killed me to do it, but it was a necessary evil under the circumstances.

But something was different this time. This wasn't the panic and rage of before, when his addled brain had him trying to rip out the Alpha's throat.

His sweat drenched body was shaking all over, breaths ragged and desperate, eyes clenched tightly shut, and teeth ground down hard, almost to breaking point.

_Sammy, dude… can you hear me?_

I glanced up at Sire in despair.

Sam let out another blood curdling howl. His body suddenly went rigid, and was then assaulted by the most violent and soul wrenching convulsions I'd ever seen.

The bed was a four-poster, made of solid oak, ancient and immovable, but Sam's seizure was damn near rocking the thing across the stone floor.

Trying out the paging device, I gulped with dismay when it didn't go off. "Battery must be flat, Sire…"

He didn't say a word, just let out an angry growl, strode from the bed and ripped open the front door.

Even from the bed, I could see the guards barring his way with crossbows no doubt loaded with silver tipped arrows, but Sire wasn't attempting to leave.

"Go get the doc, now!" he ordered.

"Your Grace, if you would just send him an email…" one of them began, politely.

"My grandson is having a violent seizure!" he bellowed. "I don't have _time_ for bloody emails, now MOVE!"

To their credit, they flinched but didn't move. Instead, Sergeant Fisher was called via radio and a runner was immediately sent from the guard house to find the doc.

Apparently, given the sheer size of the grounds, combined with the population size, it was often easier to use modern technology to communicate. The vast numbers of thought projections zipping around were just too dense to keep up with on an individual basis, though the more experienced NLSU officers were able to keep certain wolves under surveillance for law enforcement purposes.

Thought projection was best used during the day time when most non-lunars were asleep or dozing after a night's hunt, or during the actual hunt when only a handful of wolves formed the hunting party. It was why the kitchen staff only thought projected when absolutely necessary – they mostly relied on body language and strictly disciplined team work to get the job done because there were over twenty of them cooking at any one time.

But I digress...

Dave turned up minutes later, hair in disarray and panting from exertion.

"I came a quickly as I could," he said, eyes scanning us both, worriedly. "Marcus is in a bad way," he added quietly. "But he'll live. It's just going to take some time."

"That's excellent news," Sire replied, abruptly. Then he leaned out the door, looked both ways, grabbed the surprised doc by the shirtfront and swiftly yanked him inside. "And I thank you for informing us, but right now my grandson needs your help."

Dave recovered quickly from his virtual kidnapping off the doorstep, and headed straight over to the bed.

He didn't say anything for a while, just went through some checks as best he could, given that Sam was juddering away like a short-circuiting electric pylon.

"Right," he said after a few seconds. "I want to administer the last of the Sleepworm, but this time combined with a minimal dosage of a human anticonvulsant drug." He shot us an apologetic look. "It's not something I would normally consider, but given the severity of the seizure I think it's important to get this under control sooner rather than later. And besides, it can help to give him that extra nudge back to the real world."

I felt Sire's gaze on me.

_The choice is yours, pup, but I would go with it._

For Tobius to agree to human drugs this must have been really bad.

I closed my eyes for a second. _Thank you, Sire._

The words became stuck in my throat, so I thought projected my permission instead.

_Go ahead, Dave. Whatever Sammy needs to survive this._

Dave smiled sadly and got to work.

Werewolves aren't exactly allergic to human drugs or anything quite as dramatic, but it does take our system a while to get over their influence. We rarely use pain meds unless they are derived directly from a plant source, and even then we prefer to ride the pain out unaided whenever possible. Pain killers mess with our metabolism, and make changes difficult and slow. Not good when you're in a tight spot, or fighting for your life.

I guess you could say that pain is a part of life for a werewolf, and it's something you have to get used to or you'd never want to change, and that could eventually prove fatal.

Werewolves _have_ to change, if only for a little while, or we become depressed, lose sleep, and don't eat. This leads to weakness, both physically and emotionally, making us vulnerable to attack. In some cases, if the lack of change goes on for long enough, it can leave a werewolf in permanent human form, which ultimately drives them crazy. Assuming they live that long, 'cos if a stray gets hold of a weakened, depressed werewolf, unable change, they'll tear them apart, limb from limb.

Usually just for the fun of it.

Much to everyone's relief, the drug Dave administered to Sam started working right away, and fast. The convulsions stopped, and Sam went limp with a soft sigh, his head rolling back and forth across his pillow.

Dave pressed a hand palm down on Sam's forehead, holding it still, and smiled at the kid.

"Hello there," he said, kindly. "No need to be scared. I'm your doctor, but you can call me Dave. Your family are right here, Sam, and they've been anxious to see you."

And then we heard him, weak, breathless, and frail from being so sick, but he came through, and it was the sweetest sound.

_Where... they?_

Tobius and I crowded round either side of the bed, peering down at Sam, hopeful and excited.

_We're right here, Sammy._

He blinked wearily back up at me and a smile slowly emerged, exhausted and weak, but it was definitely a smile.

_Dean…_

I returned the smile.

_Yeah. You're back._

He blinked again.

_It was d-dark… and c-cold for s-so damn long… where d-did I g-go, Dean?_

I stared at him, long and hard, then leaned down and brushed a hand gently through his sweaty, greasy hair.

_I honestly don't know, kid, but it took forever to get you back._

His breathing was gradually coming back under control, his blinking grew heavier and his eyelids drooped. But like a toddler fighting to stay up a little longer, Sam jolted fully awake again, widening his eyes, trying to keep them open.

_Don't wanna go back there, Dean. Don let me fall asleep…please…_ he whispered, desperately.

He was panicking and fighting his restraints again, tugging on his wrists, glancing desperately up at them secured to the headboard.

_What's going on? Why am I chained up? Dean? Tobius?_

_Easy now, pup,_ said Sire. _I'll have you free of those in just a moment, then we'll talk._

Sam immediately began to calm down, but eyed the chains with a deep seated fear that broke my heart. He'd been forced to wear shit like this way too many times already in his short life, and it never got any easier.

Time to run interference.

_Hey, Sammy? Have you noticed something?_

_Huh? _He turned his gaze back on me.

_You can see, kid, in human form._

Sam's eyes widened.

_I… I c-can s-see? _He blinked, and a tremulous smile grew. _I can see again! Thank God! What did you do? H-how did it happen?_

_We don't know,_ I answered him, smiling back. _But we'll talk about that later, huh?_

Tobius had immediately fished out a large iron key and began unlocking the manacles, while Sam was beaming from ear to ear with relief and happiness.

But the doc was about to wipe that shaky smile from Sam's face.

"With all due respect, I'm not sure that's such a good idea," Dave asked, shifting nervously from foot to foot, obviously aware that his suggestion could make him extremely unpopular. "Sam isn't fully recovered. If he were to attack someone else we could all be held accountable for it."

"He'll be fine," Sire immediately countered, barely letting the guy finish his sentence, which was just as well because, much as I liked the doc, my hackles were already going up.

Sam's eyes widened, while I perched on the bed, pulled him up into a sitting position and began gently rubbing his bandaged wrists.

_What does he mean? _Sam sounded like he was panicking all over again. _Me? Attack… someone_ else_? Who did I attack the first time? _He looked around, suddenly, when something occurred to him. _And where the _hell_ are we?_

_All in good time, pup,_ said Tobius. He reached forward and grasped Sam's upper arms, studying his grandson's tired face with a fond smile. "It's good to have you back with us, Sam, and it's especially wonderful that you can truly see us now."

Sam nodded, a little surprised when his grandfather enveloped him in a brief, tight hug.

"I-it's good to b-be b-back," he rasped out.

His throat had to be sore from going so long without use, and then howling his lungs out just a few minutes ago.

Tobius stepped back and headed straight for the brandy. "Probably best to thought project for now, Sam, until your voice improves," he said, pouring out a generous measure and adding a little honey and lemon to it. "But in the meantime, here's the best remedy for everything. Drink up, lad."

Sam nodded, gratefully, took the balloon glass in both hands, and hunched over it. But the poor kid was obviously too weak and probably in shock, because his hands were shaking badly, slopping brandy all over the place, before the glass made it even halfway to his mouth.

Without a word, I guided it the rest of the way, letting him sip slowly.

He grimaced a few times. It probably burned a little on the way down, but the brandy and honey soon did its job, relaxing his muscles and soothing his throat.

Dave remained silent, watching his patient closely.

Tobius rubbed Sam's back in small circles, while I waited for Sam to give the signal that he was finished with the brandy.

"Enough?" I asked when Sam released the glass into my care.

"Yeah," he breathed out, slumping back against his pillows. "So, what's been going on?" His eyes searched my face. "Who did I attack?"

I scratched the back of my neck. "Uh, Sire? You wanna take this one?"

Tobius sighed. "I suppose I'd better. It was my idea to come all the way up here, after all." He nodded to the doc. "If you'll excuse us please, Dave."

"Of course," he replied, courteously. "Sam should be ok until the afternoon, but I've left a new pager on the desk. Don't hesitate to call if anything happens." He turned to leave, but then added _I shall keep you informed of the Alpha's health but, if you'll take some friendly advice, I suggest you stay silent to all but Castiel until the matter is resolved._

Dave gave a small bow and left.

Two hours later, after we'd laid it all on the line for him, Sam stared at us, eyes moist with guilt and self-loathing.

_Oh my God. I attacked the Alpha? _He shook his head and ran a shaking hand through his messy hair. _I can't believe… I don't remember any of this. I didn't _ask_ for any of this! I'm so sorry… what the hell have I done?_

I really felt bad for the poor kid.

It had to be pretty overwhelming for him, being kidnapped, beaten and drugged, rescued, taken in and kindly treated by a huge pack, only to wake up and find out he'd gone postal and nearly killed their alpha.

Sensing he was about to freak out, big time, I wrapped an arm tightly round his shoulders, giving him a small, rough shake.

_Hey! _I said, sharply. _You haven't _done anything_, ok? That wasn't you, Sammy. We know that, and so does Castiel. The dude's just following pack procedure._

_He's right, _Tobius backed me up without hesitation. He leaned down and cupped Sam's chin, gently forcing the kid to look at him. _And you can't go around blaming yourself for this, Sam. If the wrong person overhears you taking the blame like you just did, it could be misconstrued as a confession. And then, well. It'll all be over bar the silver arrows._

Sam gaped, eyes growing moist again and his breathing sped up.

Had to admit, even I was a little shocked. I'd known of the death penalty a little longer than Sam, but it hadn't really sunk in.

Death by silver? That's harsh, but I guess it made sense. What else would you use to execute a traitor, and one who had tried to kill the pack Alpha at that? Silver would be the ultimate, final insult, and serve as a warning to any potential followers.

Even in England, a country where they haven't put anyone to death since 1964, a traitor in time of war can still be executed.

But still… this was _Sammy. _We weren't at war, and Sammy was no killer.

This was _Sam,_ who had once killed a skunk for me to feed on, following a rock fall that had buried me alive and broken all four of my legs.

_Sam, _the kid who still had the occasional guilt trip over that poor critter.

But Sire continued, eyeing us both, cautiously.

_In the meantime, Dave is quite correct; you say nothing about it to anyone, not even in thought projection._ Tobius nodded at me. _That goes for all of us. We only speak about this when it's just the three of us._

Sam shrugged, despondently. "I don't remember anything, anyhow."

"And it might be best to keep it that way," Sire replied. "Now. I think it would be a very good idea if we all got some sleep." He regarded Sam with a kind smile. "You especially, pup."

Sam didn't say anything, just looked down at his fingers, fiddling nervously in his lap.

I caught Tobius' eye, very briefly. We both knew what _this_ was about.

Sam was scared. The Sleepworm had sent him to a dark place, a drug induced hell hole. The gradually reduced doses of the stuff, eventually combined with the anticonvulsant, had managed to drag him back out. Not surprising that he wasn't interested in returning to that place.

"We'll be right here, kid. We won't leave you, not at all," I whispered, giving him a nudge. "You won't go back there, Sammy, 'cos I won't let that happen, I promise I'll wake you before it does. And besides, Dave gave you something to stop all that."

Sam looked back at me, jaw clenching and unclenching.

"Ok," he muttered and slid down in the bed until only his head and shoulders could be seen above the furs.

I stretched out, yawning, and wrapping an arm around him, while Tobius just lay on the other side of Sam and gently rubbed the back of his neck.

_Dean? Tobius?_ Sam sounded like a sleep toddler.

_Yeah, Sam?_

There came the rustle of fur, and I looked over to see him staring at me, eyes half closed.

_What the hell are you guys wearing?_

_It's a Pack standard issue robe, Sam._

_You look like you're in some kind of cult._

_It's comfortable enough._

_I'd rather be naked._

_Well, you're in for a shock, kid, 'cos you're wearing one too._

_Really? Huh. I guess you're right. They _are _comfortable._

I stayed silent, hoping he'd go to sleep.

_I'd still rather be naked._

I smiled in the darkness. Sam preferring nudity over the robes nearly made me laugh, especially given his near terminal shyness.

_Go to sleep, Sam._

_On one condition._

_Alright. _I huffed._ What is it?_

_We find some proper clothes tomorrow. I'm not facing a murder trial wearing a robe. That's just wrong._

"You're not going to face a murder trial," Tobius interjected, firmly. "We are going to resolve this. But you're right. We do need proper clothes for when we finally leave. Marcus was having the Impala towed up here, so I'd imagine it'll be here sometime over the next couple of days. Which means we'll have our own clothes soon enough. Now, get some damn sleep, the both of you!"

My heart thumped at the thought of finally seeing my baby but, instead of crowing about it, I grinned when I sensed Sam opening his mouth again, and clamped my hand over it.

_Seriously, dude. Not another word. We'll talk again in the morning._

While Sam finally relented and gave way to sleep, I stayed awake a little longer. Tobius, I knew, would be keeping one ear open while he dozed, so that wasn't the reason for my insomnia.

Sam's peril aside, when we first came here I'd found myself beginning to enjoy our stay; getting to know my uncles, and learning more about the pack. The food was amazing, and everyone had seemed happy and friendly. Marcus had appeared to respect us, and I'd been looking forward to spending more time with the guy. I was pretty sure that he meant it when he'd asked for the same in return.

But, even though Dave had assured us he was recovering, that didn't mean the Alpha would forgive Sammy, or even understand that it wasn't the kid's fault. Guy nearly had his throat ripped out. It's a little hard to be understanding and reasonable after something like that, I guess. And we didn't know the Alpha all that well.

I just had to hope that he wouldn't hold it against Sam, and that he would support us.

Sadly, I might have considered this place as a part of our family someday, but now? After everything? I wasn't so sure. Pack had kind of lost its shine.

It had me wondering how we would be treated from now on by the likes of Castiel and Missouri. If Sam's 'crime' was punishable by death, they surely wouldn't be so welcoming in future.

No matter which way this turned out, I felt pretty sure I could kiss my prime celebrations goodbye. Soon as we proved Sam's innocence and Crowley was implicated, maybe we'd be shown the door faster than a surprise prostitute in a convent, and welcomed back just as often.

And you know what? I was ok with that. So long as Sam and Tobius were alive and happy, the rest didn't matter.

Sam moaned and gasped in his sleep, but Tobius murmured quietly to him, and carried on stroking the kid's neck and scalp until he settled back down again.

I wondered if Sam's subconscious was replaying some of his time in captivity. I'd sure had some of my own less than reassuring flashbacks, and some of them were beginning to merge.

I still sometimes dreamt of Sam after Gordon Walker had taken him from right under our noses. We'd found the kid eventually, tortured and bound in silver from neck to ankles, and each manacle had small silver spikes that were slowly poisoning him.

He'd gone blind as a result of it, and it had taken weeks for him to get his sight back.

His recovery from Jake's silver sword up at Mont Noir had taken even longer, not surprisingly. Sam's sight had eventually restored itself in wolf form, but it was in human form that his eyes let him down. Until now, of course.

Finding him chained to a tree, out of it and drugged with that damn Sleepworm shit… now _that_ was an image that fought for first place in My Worst Nightmare photo album. And it had way too many competitors already.

_Another_ question struck me, keeping me awake even longer.

Was the restoration of his sight down to the Sleepworm? Or would it have happened anyway? No way to tell, but I really hoped for the latter, 'cos like hell was I going to thank that smug bastard Crowley for it.

Crowley… oh boy. If there was one loose end I wanted tying up more than anything, it was that sneaky, lowlife, so called _Uncle_ of mine, preferably with barbed wire.

I no longer felt ambivalent towards Crowley; I plainly, simply, no holes barred, downright _hated_ him. Just wanted to go out, find the bastard and throttle him senseless. Maybe poison him with his own Sleepworm, except I'm not sure I could wish that stuff on anyone, tempting though it sure was.

All I knew was that killing him was too good for the bastard, and even a slow painful death would end in his relief all too soon for my liking.

_I can hear you thinking from here, Dean,_ Sire whispered.

I looked over at him and caught his green eyes flashing in the darkness.

_Are you ok? _he asked when I didn't reply.

_I guess so._

We stared at each other in silence.

_I can't read your actual thoughts, only your projections,_ he said, quietly. _But don't think I can't guess at what's running around inside your head. I know you better than you know yourself._

Another long silence.

_Crowley will get his comeuppance, young pup, for what he's done to Sam, to all those other children and their families, and for what he's done to Marcus. I can promise you that._

I had nothing further to add.

_Get some sleep, my son. You're going to need it._

I had no doubts about that. No doubts at all.

No, I didn't want Crowley dead, not even by fair trial and execution. That just seemed wrong somehow.

But, had I known how far the little shit would go for the Alpha seat, I might just have changed my mind about that…

_**TBC...**_

_**If you're real nice to me I might consider posting the next chapter on Sunday. And as next instalments go, chapter 10 is rather insightful.**_

_**Cheers for all your wonderful reviews.**_

_**Much love,**_

_**ST.**_


	10. Chapter 10

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 10**

_**Now…**_

**Bobby Singer carries over a large platter of cooked meat and nudges Sam with an elbow.**

"**Get to eating, kid."**

**Sam smiles, fondly. "You read my mind."**

**He tucks into a large hunk of venison and ignores the juices running down his chin. Sam's obviously famished because he's tearing at the meat with an almost childlike enthusiasm and smacking his lips, blue-green eyes glowing beautifully.**

**The gruff human flashes a rare smile at the boy and nods.**

**Dean watches his _brotherson_ proudly.**

"**It's good to see him back in love with his food again," he says to the camera, fingers stroking the soft downy ears of the sleeping pup in his arms. "He needs all the protein he can get…" he halts suddenly and blinks, aware that maybe he's said too much. "But that's something I'll go into later."**

"**Here," a hand appears under Dean's nose, bearing another flask of mead. "If you're going to talk about the past, then at least do it under anaesthetic. Less painful that way."**

**The voice is a thick, pleasant sounding Scottish brogue, deep, husky, and tainted with amusement. Its owner appears briefly on screen, with his thick, shaggy eyebrows raised and long, grey beard glinting in the firelight.**

"**So this is the infamous camera?" he wrinkles his nose. "Forgive me for saying so, but it's a wee bit smaller than I imagined. But then again, last time I saw one of these, Buster Keaton was just starting out."**

**Tobius looks up from his wooden bowl with a mock-derisive snort.**

"**Ach, don't you come it with _me_, laddy," says the Scot-werewolf. "Are you forgetting who it was that stumbled into a London film theatre, blind drunk, and singing "It's a long way to Tipperary" just after we got back from Dunkirk? Never been so embarrassed in all me life!"**

**Tobius growls and turns his nose up.**

"**Now, Lucas," says Victoria from out of shot. "The way I heard it, Tobius was the only thing keeping you upright!"**

**Lucas cocks his head to one side, glaring at Tobius.**

**The two Alphas seem to be having some kind of silent conversation that has the rest of the wolves laughing at them.**

**Dean is grinning and watching the show with interest, until the two senior wolves slink away, taking their argument elsewhere. He raises an eyebrow when Lucas snags a few flasks of mead along the way.**

"**That'll keep 'em happy for a while," says Dean, pouring himself and Sam another healthy slug of mead from their own flask.**

**Sam smiles happily around a mouthful of venison, meat juices smeared all over his nose. It would normally make for a disgusting sight, but somehow Sam still manages to look adorably childlike. The puppy in his lap is now asleep, it's little snout twitching, tail wrapped around Sam's waist, as though never letting go.**

"**So, one more journal entry for tonight and we hit the hay for a bit, huh, Sam?" asks Dean, and takes a long gulp of mead. "It's been a long day, and everyone else seems to bedding down."**

"**Sounds good to me," his _brotherson_ mumbles, softly, and finishes off the rest of his platter while Dean settles himself comfortably.**

_**Then…**_

Next time I woke up, the question of Sam's sight was still fluttering around the edges of my mind.

"Hey, Sire?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think the Sleepworm is responsible for Sam getting his sight back?"

Tobius glanced up at me from his seat at the desk by the window. The PC was humming away to itself and, though the room was still fairly dark, morning sunlight seeped around the edges of the heavy drapes, gradually brightening the walls and tapestries.

"It's possible," he admitted, thoughtfully. "Stranger things have happened, so I wouldn't discount it completely. No one truly understands the way Sleepworm functions."

I chewed that over for a few seconds, but noted the small frown on Sire's face.

"What are you doing over there?" I asked, curiously.

"Trying to get an email through to Castiel," he answered, sounding a little frustrated. "But it keeps bouncing back off the server with a delivery failure message."

"Let me see," said Sam, catching us all by surprise. We hadn't realised the kid was awake.

"Sammy…" I tried to intercede because the Kid still looked pale and shaky, in no condition to be getting out of bed.

"I'm ok, Dean," he said, firmly, threw the covers back and sat up. After he swayed and blinked, the stubborn little shit finally added, "I might need a hand, though."

I helped him off the bed, and with an arm round his waist, and one hand tightly clutching at his, we slowly began to shuffle across the room. Sire got up to assist, but I shook my head at him.

"I got this."

Sam stopped halfway, closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath.

_You in any pain, Sam?_

_No. Just tired. And hungry. I'll be fine once I've eaten._

_I've placed an order with Missouri, pup, _Tobius announced. _Food will be here shortly._

Sam smiled, wearily. _Thanks, Tobius. I could eat a horse right now._

We made the rest of the short journey without incident.

"Here," Sire gently tugged Sam into his chair. "You need this more than I do."

Sam nodded his thanks then quickly got down to business.

"Ok, let's see what we've got," Sam studied the computer screen, frowning. "This is interesting."

"What is?" I asked.

I had a look and none of it made a lick of sense to me. Computers just aren't my territory.

"Well, from what I can make out, this isn't an automated delivery message," he answered, clicking away at the mouse and moving it around the pad. "These were hand typed."

"What does that mean?" I felt a little out of my depth here, but I was determined to make an effort.

"It means," Sire leaned over Sam's shoulder. "That these weren't automatically generated by a delivery failure. Someone deliberately sent these out."

I think I understood that part, but what I didn't get was why.

"What for?" I asked. "Why doesn't Castiel just email us directly and tell us to stop?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out," said Sam, still moving around the screen. "I think there's a message hidden somewhere in these notifications."

We kept quiet, letting the kid work. I watched the mouse cursor moving around the screen, until it passed over an innocuous looking semi-colon, where the cursor flickered into a tiny fist-shape with a pointed finger.

"There!" Sam exclaimed, and clicked the left mouse button.

A new window opened up, and inside was the serious face of Castiel, staring right back at us.

"Took you long enough to figure it out," he said, tonelessly, voice a little muffled through the computers speakers.

I glanced at the top of the PC'S flat screen monitor and spied the tiny in-built webcam.

Tobius let out a breath.

"Only you, dear brother," he muttered, fondly. "So, I'm assuming this isn't a social call?"

"I don't do social," said Castiel, his eyes straying to Sam. "It's good to finally meet you, child. I'm glad you're awake. I trust you are feeling better?"

Sam looked a little taken aback at first but recovered quickly.

"I am well," he said, quietly. "Thank you for enquiring."

The kid hesitated before asking a tentative question of his own.

"H-how is the Alpha?"

Castiel's eyes seemed to darken, but he nodded.

"Much better. He is healing satisfactorily."

"You didn't go to all this trouble with the cloak and dagger shit just to ask Sam about his health," I interrupted, folding my arms and not caring that I'd just insulted the Pack Beta. I wanted answers, and one way or another I was going to get them.

"No," Castiel answered. "That was only part of the reason. I wanted to warn you not to let anyone in unless you are absolutely certain it is me, or the Doc."

Sire cast me a quick glance. "Not even Crowley?" he asked, all fake innocence.

"_Especially_ not Crowley," snapped Castiel, and paused. Guy seemed a little shocked at himself. He cleared his throat and continued in a calmer tone. "What I mean to say is, there are things we need to discuss and quickly."

"You mean about the charges against Sam?" I asked, laying a hand on Sam's neck and squeezing gently.

"No longer an issue," came the answer. "Once I explained things, Marcus insisted on having those dropped, against Pack Council ruling."

So it had all been an act on Castiel's part. He'd known right from the get go that something was off.

Sam sagged back against me; I felt instant peace and relief settle around us, and even Tobius seemed to let out a shaky breath.

"I'll bet _that_ went down well," Sire muttered.

"Indeed, it didn't," Castiel leaned closer to his webcam, his tone ominous and wary. "It is rare for an alpha to go against the advice of his council, though not unheard of. But I must warn you, some of the elders did not leave the Council Chambers happy. As pleased as I am for you, Sam, that true justice has prevailed here, there may be elements among the Pack who will cause dissent and attempt to have the decision reversed. Already there is talk of a vote of no confidence against Marcus."

Sire's eyes narrowed. "Let me guess who started _that_ one off…"

"Crowley," Castiel nodded. "I'm afraid so. He is insisting that Marcus made an illegal decision not in the best interest of the Pack. You must understand; Crowley is very popular among the Pack elders, and by lore he is quite correct. There is a chance he can win this, and if he does he'll take the Alpha seat." His eyes flickered to me. "Hence the cloak and dagger routine, Dean. I fear Crowley may use his status within the NLSU to monitor all internal and external emails. I'm also pretty sure he's monitoring all thought projections from under fifty feet away, so be careful what you say, or think. As they say: walls have ears."

Sam and I blinked. Judging by the look on the kid's face, he was feeling as devastated as I was.

"Not if we have proof that he may have orchestrated this entire farce," Tobius announced, green eyes glowing fiercely. He stood up, rolling his shoulders and glaring down at his brother's face on screen. "We don't have much time before Sam's system is completely cleared of the Sleepworm, so pay attention brother."

Castiel cocked his head. "What do you propose to do?"

"Firstly," answered Tobius, "it's about what _you _are going to do. Go to Marcus, and ask him exactly what Crowley said right before Sam attacked him."

Castiel stared at him for a moment, nodded, then disappeared out of shot.

Sire gently swung Sam's chair around to face him.

_Sam, pup, I need to ask something of you…_ Tobius began, eyes kind and sad.

But Sammy just sighed. _I know. Don't apologise, ok? I get it._

Sire nodded at me and I understood.

I hated this, but it was our only chance.

There was no way of knowing for certain if this was going to work, but if it did and we caught it on webcam, recorded in full with Castiel as a witness, Sam was home free, Marcus' position as Alpha was safe, and Crowley was gonna have a _lot_ of explaining to do.

I retrieved the iron manacles from the bed and brought them over to the desk.

Kneeling in front of Sam, I gently began chaining his wrists and arms to the chair, wishing like hell I could have protected him better, kept him out of harm's way. Instead, I let him get kidnapped, right off the side of the road, _right in front of us._

And now we were going to force him into a rage attack, just to prove his innocence, and possibly send the kid to a dark, hell-hole, when we'd only just got him back from there.

It just wasn't fair. Rather like dogging and bullying a rape victim in the witness box.

_Dean, it's ok. _The kid whispered, gently, but I just couldn't meet his gaze until he begged_ Look at me? Please?_

When I looked up at Sam, his glowing eyes were awash with compassion and sympathy.

_I know what needs to be done. And this isn't your fault._

_Sam…_

_I mean it._

"Are you ready for this?" Tobius made a gesture to the screen, where Castiel was sitting back down and watching us with an air of guarded curiosity.

We all nodded.

"Does Marcus remember what Crowley said, right before Sam attacked him?" Sire repeated the question, clearly and loudly for the benefit of the webcam.

Castiel looked directly at Sam, watching him carefully.

"He said 'Gotta love brotherly love, huh?'"

Straight away, Sam's eyes darkened to purple. As we watched, all semblance of humanity upped and left, leaving a wild animal in its place, hissing, growling and snarling, wrenching at the chains and shaking his head violently from side to side. He wasn't as ferocious as he had been the first two times we'd witnessed it, but it still shook us up seeing Sammy like this.

Castiel sat back in his seat, drumming his knuckles lightly on the keyboard.

But Sam wasn't finished.

"_IIIIIseeeeeeeyouuuuuu!_" he hissed, saliva building up at the corners of his mouth.

I stumbled back in shock.

Whatever it was, it wasn't Sam. Not only did it sound nothing like him, but the sheer malevolence with which the words were delivered just _couldn't_ have come from Sam.

It was like he was possessed, or something…

And once the idea entered my head, I just couldn't let it go.

"Sire?"

It seemed that Tobius had come to the same conclusion because he nodded shakily and reached into a desk drawer, narrowly missing Sam's snapping jaws by inches when the kid threw himself forward in the chair, straining against the chains.

Tobius' hand remerged with a black sharpie pen.

_Will a devil's trap work? _I enquired, anxiously, watching him drop to his knees.

_Probably won't make any bloody difference, but do you have any better ideas? _said Sire, already marking out its basic design on the stone floor.

I shook my head in despair. _I guess not._

The thing was, as far as we knew, werewolves can't be possessed. We have natural built-in defences against it. Any demon or ghost that tries it will quickly find themselves homeless.

_So, you think this is one of the side effects of Sleepworm? _I asked, keeping a close eye on Sam's chains in case they showed any sign of wear or fatigue.

_Possibly, _said Sire, _though I'm more inclined to think it's something in the actual drug itself that, perhaps, broke out in Sam. And if that's the case, then Crowley did more to the Sleepworm than just a rage ritual._

Just as he said it, Sam let out a terrible roar, his head snapped back, and I went flying across the room. My head connected with the wall and I saw stars for a few seconds.

_Dean! Are you ok? _Sire called out.

"Yeah," I mumbled aloud, feeling dazed and blinking heavily. "Yeah, m'fine."

Sam's harsh laugh echoed throughout the room.

"_IIIIIseeeeeeeyouuuuuu!_" he said again, that creepy, unSamlike voice, grating across my nerves.

By the time I got back up, Tobius had Sam in a head lock, with two fingers pressed down hard on the pressure point behind the kid's ear.

Sam shuddered, gasped, and went limp in his grandfather's grip.

We both stared at him.

"Bed?" Sire said, suddenly, looking weary.

I gave a sharp nod. "Bed."

"Ahem," a voice came from the computer. Castiel seemed worried and embarrassed all at once. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

Tobius barely spared him a glance as, between us, we unchained our boy and carried him across to the bed.

"Yes, you can do something," said Sire, shortly. "You can start praying."

"Understood brother," Castiel bowed his head, respectfully.

"Oh, and one more thing," I said, just before he signed off.

"Anything," Castiel uttered softly.

"Get more chains," I swallowed hard and glanced at Sam's face. "'Cos when I catch up with Crowley, you're gonna need something to keep me from killing the fucker!"

Once Sam was secured to the bed, I paged the doc. We waited anxiously for the guy, pacing the room, and trying to figure out just where the hell we were supposed to go from here.

You guys are probably sick to death of this damn room, but spare a thought for us. We were practically climbing the fucking walls!

"So, ghost or demon?" I asked, and Sire stopped his pacing.

"Could be either, but ghost seems more likely," he answered. "One of the spirits we saw in the syringe Dave used the other night could be messing with Sam's powers."

"Dammit!" I snapped, thrusting a hand through my hair in frustration. "This just keeps getting better and better!"

"He should be alright when he wakes up," said Tobius, sympathetically. "Some of the Sleepworm would have worked its way out of him by then. The spirit will have little control over Sam unless someone uses his trigger."

But it begged a big, neon-lettered question, one with solid gold edging and an alarm bell.

"Sire," I turned to him, not looking forward to the answer. "If this Sleepworm can now make werewolves vulnerable to ghost possession, what about demons?"

Tobius gazed at me in hopeless despair. "I just don't know."

We didn't need to discuss the consequences if that were the case.

The doc arrived in good time and, after a thorough examination, assured us that Sam was physically unharmed.

"However," he added, packing away his stethoscope. "If it's true what you say, that he showed signs of possession, performing an exorcism could be very tricky. We just don't know what kind of emotional damage it could do. This is…" he flapped a hand around, a helpless gesture that told us how gob smacked he was. "This is unprecedented. Never happened before."

He stood and stared at Sam, looking thoughtful.

"Leave it with me," he murmured and headed for the door. "I know of someone who might be able to help."

Shortly after Dave left, Sam woke up with a start, looking scared out of his mind and shivering from head to toe.

"Wha-what h-happened?" he gasped and looked up. He took in the sight of his chained wrists for the second time that day and sighed, shaky and clearly exhausted. "I'm g-guessing th-things d-didn't work out t-too g-good, huh?"

I sank down onto the bed and pulled the blankets tighter around him.

"S'ok, Sam," I told him, gently unlocking the manacles again. "It worked just fine. Castiel now has proof to take to the Council on your behalf."

It seemed to put Sam's mind at rest for now, but I could no longer tell him he was safe or out of danger. Not with a rabid, enraged and violent spirit embedded inside him.

**_TBC..._**

**_Thanks for all your wonderful reviews. There have been some extremely passionate responses regarding Crowley, and that has really impressed me. Give yourselves a pat on the back._**

**_More to come soon..._**

**_Cheers everyone._**

**_Kind regards,_**

**_ST._**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 11**

_**Now…**_

**The camera has been left on. The battery should have given out by now, but clearly it's been connected up to either the cabin's electricity generator, or the Impala.**

**Sam and Dean are snuggled up in wolf form, curled around each other like a couple of overgrown pups, snoring away like road drills. Matthew and Logan are also cuddled together in a smaller version of the Sam and Dean puppy pile.**

**Altogether now, one, two, three…._Awwwwwww!_**

**In the back ground, one can make out various other wolves, some on their backs with their paws in the air, others curled up like giant dormice. Pastor Jim is snoozing away under a blanket, while Bobby has found a sleeping bag from somewhere and all that can be seen of him is that scruffy old ball cap.**

**Night is on its way out, and the slowly lightening sky suggests that dawn is not far off.**

**But a large silhouette appears from the tree line. It sniffs and snorts, and is then joined by two others and a much smaller third one. The four shadows sniff the air then quietly lumber over to the fire, completely unafraid of the red, hot coals or the large number of wolves snoozing away nearby.**

**Sam opens one eye and uses to his snout to gently nudge at Dean's ear.**

**All remains silent as the shapes move closer and are revealed as three large bears and a bear cub. They sniff at the remains of the food, and one of the larger ones sits down on its rear; it lifts a mead flask clumsily in both paws to take a long, satisfying slurp, then smacks its lips noisily and gurgles.**

**Sam and Dean suddenly spring to attention, howling fiercely at the intruder, who promptly drops the flask and falls over backwards in fright. Its' large paws come up, and it's flailing helplessly like a beetle on its' back, whimpering loudly.**

**The howling goes through several octaves while Sam and Dean change to human form, and it becomes apparent that they are laughing their heads off.**

"**If you go down to the woods today…" Sam sings, rather badly out of tune, as it happens, while Dean nearly chokes with laughter. "You're in for one _helluva_ surprise!"**

**The other bears pad over to their stricken kin. They also appear to be laughing, in so far as the digital audience can tell. They are _bears_, after all.**

**The bear rolls back over, and changes into a small human with dark hair and a sulky pout.**

"**Dudes! You scared the shit out of me!" he says, sitting up. He grabs a nearby discarded blanket and wraps it around himself.**

**Dean shakes his head, grinning. "Good to see you too, Andy."**

**The other bears change into a another tiny guy, a matching tiny and attractive woman with dark hair, while the bear cub launches itself at Sam, burying it's little snout in his neck.**

"**Hey baby bear," he says, affectionately, wrapping his arms around the cub. He glances up at the others with a huge, delighted smile. "Jose, Gerald, Andy… what the hell took you so long?"**

"**We got a little sidetracked," says Jose with a tinge of frustrated amusement. "Andy here insisted on showing his little sister how to fish."**

"**Only, he hasn't quite mastered that himself just yet," says Gerald, trying to smother a grin. "Keeps falling into the river and frightening the little blighters!"**

"**Still a little clumsy there, huh, Andy?" Sam's smile widens.**

**Andy scowls but comes forward to give both Sam and Dean an affectionate hug.**

"**Hey! I still managed to catch something… eventually," he grumbles, good naturedly, then brings forth a large parcel wrapped in leaves. "Salmon for breakfast anyone? I caught several and they're huge!"**

**Dean stares hard at it. "I don't even wanna _know_ where you were carrying that!"**

"**Me neither," Sam nods. "Might give us nightmares."**

**Despite the early morning, everyone's soon waking up and Victoria sets to cooking the salmon, after hugging the werebears and welcoming them.**

**In the meantime, Dean settles back down along with Sam, and the two of them continue to log their exploits while the werebears listen with interest…**

_**Then…**_

Sam was quiet for the rest of the day, and it wasn't until he got up and headed for the bathroom that I remembered he hadn't yet eaten. Poor kid was shaking, clearly pushed to the limit, yet he shook his head when I offered to help.

I stared after him, watching his slumped shoulders retreating behind the bathroom door. Depression and cabin fever from being stuck in this room was weighing heavily on us all, but for Sam this whole business was really testing him.

"Hey, Tobius?" I called, softly.

Sire was seated at his desk again, doing something on the computer. He looked up at me.

"I know," he replied, just as softly. "Missouri's on her way as we speak. She just sent an email. Apparently, Dave is with her."

"Yeah," I nodded and fisted my hands. "But we need to get out. To hunt. And Sammy needs to change."

Though it had only been a few days of incarceration, it felt like weeks since we last went outside.

Sire smiled. "Castiel is going to take us out with him, but we can't be gone long in case word gets back to Crowley. We'll be sitting ducks."

I frowned, thinking that over. "Sammy won't be strong enough to run for long, anyhow."

"It's ok," Sam suddenly announced from the bathroom door. He must have taken a real quick shower, because his hair was wet and he was rubbing himself down with a fluffy towel. "You guys go without me. I can just change here for a little while."

"Uh uh!" I said immediately. "I'm not leaving you here on your own, especially not with what's been going on. We'll just have to take it slow."

"Dean," Sam sighed and leaned against the door frame. "I'm tired, weak, and sick. You can't enjoy yourself out there with me hanging on your tail the whole time."

I wanted to be angry with him for even thinking that but, instead, I just grinned.

"Wouldn't be the same without you there," I reached over and gently pulled him into the room. "How can I enjoy the hunt without you there to do all my dirty work, huh? Can't expect a future alpha to gut and clean his _own_ food, bitch!"

"Right, 'cos you're just too precious for that, jerk!" Sam replied, dryly, and sat down on the bed just as someone started knocking loudly at the front door.

Tobius got up and motioned for us to stay where we were. He approached the door silently and sniffed the air, then, with a swift nod in my direction, he yanked it open to reveal Dave and Missouri both carrying two covered trays.

"Dinner is served, boys!" Missouri announced with a huge smile and a wink.

I heard Sam sigh with relief when the scent of roast beef, gravy and mash potatoes wafted our way.

"Oh thank God!" he muttered and slid off the bed, eyeing the trays hungrily. Not waiting for Tobius to let our guests in, Sam stumbled over, lifted the lid on Missouri's tray and closed his eyes, savouring the smell.

Missouri's eyes widened. "Sweet Mary, the poor child's starving!"

"I'm afraid there hadn't been much opportunity to feed him," said Tobius, sadly. "He's been mostly unconscious since we arrived here."

Sam whimpered, snout morphing in and out, ears climbing up the side of his head. He was licking his lips and gazing pleadingly at Cook, barely able to speak, so great was his hunger.

"Pl-please…" he whispered, pawing gently at the tray, as though fighting the instinct to just rip it out of her hands.

"Here, child," said Missouri, kindly. "You take it. I can always get your family more."

When Sam glanced over at me, seeking approval, his eyes were watering. He looked hungry and guilty and generally miserable as all hell.

"Go ahead, kid," I said, nodding at the food. "You need it more than we do right now."

Sam barely made it back to the bed, before he fell on the food, the tray shaking in his hands. It took him precisely two minutes to polish off an entire joint of beef, a heap of mash potatoes, and a mound of green garden peas. And, judging by the look on his face, he was still hungry.

Dave didn't say a word, just pushed the other tray into Sam's hands and lifted the lid.

Another huge joint of beef awaited him.

The look Sam threw Dave was so full of gratitude that I swear the guy nearly burst into tears. Instead he just nodded and turned away.

"Feeling better?" I asked a few minutes later, after the second joint had gone south.

Sam licked his lips. "Ohhhh yeah," he said, then suddenly tensed up.

At first I thought it was another seizure but Sam just gulped and turned guilty eyes on Cook.

"I'm so sorry," he began. "What you must think of me… I didn't even wait to introduce myself before taking the food…"

"I think," said Missouri, coming closer and reaching for one of Sam's hands, which he willingly gave. "That you don't need any introductions, honey. I know exactly who you are."

She smiled, brushed a hand through his floppy hair, as though he was one of her own pups, and stared deep into his eyes.

"You needed food and that ain't nothin' to be ashamed of," she continued, her voice quiet and soothing. "So, you want anymore?"

Sam gazed at her, sleepily. "No," he whispered, sounding a little stoned. "I'm ok, now."

"Dean," she said, quietly, not looking away from Sam. "Come over here, child. Your boy needs you."

Just as I sat down beside him, Sam passed out against me.

"What the…?" I grunted, startled when his dead weight nearly forced me off the bed. Wrapping an arm round the kid, I glanced questioning up at Cook.

"It's ok," said Missouri, calmly. "He's just sleeping. It's better for him this way."

I glanced over at Tobius, who nodded confidently and turned to Dave.

"I had a feeling you'd ask Cook for help on this one," said Sire.

Dave shrugged. "Seemed to be the logical choice. She's the only one around here who's dealt with such matters before."

I felt confused. "What matters? What the hell you guys talking about?"

"Possessions, of course," answered Missouri. "And I sometimes help humans to overcome unwanted... _guests _in their homes." She stared at me. "But I'm also the one they send all the pups to after they've been rescued from the fight arena. They're often very troubled and need counselling, particularly the ones who had to actually fight."

"I see," nodding, I looked at Sam, sleeping peacefully, his head resting on my shoulder.

The only thing worse than getting killed out there in the arena, must have been surviving the aftermath and suffering the guilt of knowing you'd been forced to kill one of your own.

I changed the subject before things could get too maudlin. "So, you're the local Dr Phil? Great. Just what we need," but it came off a little more snarky and sarcastic than I had intended.

"Dean…" Sire began, frowning, but Missouri proved quite capable of defending herself.

"Don't you _sass_ me, boy!" she said, haughtily. "Sam ain't the first one I've come across to suffer spiked Sleepworm. Those fight arenas are always experimenting, often just for fun. But he is the first werewolf I know of to actually become possessed. Whoever figured out how to do it is one clever little bastard, and I hope we can put a stop to it before it all goes too far. But if in the meantime Sam needs help to deal with the after effects, then you _betcha_ I'm your Dr Phil!"

I blinked.

Sire snorted with laughter. "That'll teach you to answer back, pup."

So I admit I was a little rude.

"I'm sorry, ok? I'm just worried." I shrugged forlornly. "Sam doesn't deserve any of this."

Fortunately for me, Missouri forgave easily.

"I know, child, and neither do you," she said, gently cupping my chin and smiling sadly. "Now let's get to work, huh?" she turned to the doc. "Dave? I need you to go get something for me…"

The devil's trap Sire drew on the stone floor from earlier was to prove useful after all.

Dave stood by, carrying some strange glass phial with a rubber bung for a lid. It was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand and a real delicate looking thing.

He nodded. "Ok, all ready for you, Cook."

I sighed heavily and stared at Sam. There he was, once again, chained to a damn chair in the middle of a damn devil's trap.

"Our lives really are becoming rather farcical, eh?" said Tobius, perhaps reading my thoughts, and clapping me on the shoulder. "I think I've lost count of the number of times we've been forced to chain up or handcuff your son over the years. We _must _have earned a place in the Guinness Book of Records by now."

I gave out a loud snort of reluctant laughter.

Sam sat, unmoving, eyes closed and looking peaceful, totally unaware of the hell his body was about to go through.

Missouri had explained it all to us.

The spirit from the Sleepworm was physical. There was no exorcising it, or banishing it. It had to be literally pulled out of Sam, using a combination of Cook's psychic abilities and some weird concoction of herbs and dirt she'd brought with her, and that was going to hurt. Even with all the wolf's bane we pumped into the kid's body so he wouldn't undergo a painful, involuntary change, it would still be unpleasant.

And that's where Cook's other talents had come into play. She'd sent Sam into a deep slumber. So deep, in fact, that the black Sleepworm spirit couldn't touch him.

As soon as she stepped inside the trap, placed the small bags of dirt at each of the five points and laid a hand on Sam's head, the spirit soon showed itself once again.

Sam's eyes snapped open. The weird purple glow now looked terrifying.

"_III seeee youuuuu witch!_" he hissed, then snapped at the Cook, body jerking in his seat. "_He is mineeeeee_!"

The chair rocked with the force of his movements, the chains stretched tight across his chest and arms.

"_Youuu can't have hiiiimmmm he is mineeeee!_" it repeated, angrily.

Missouri's eyes narrowed. "I think the boy's daddy might have something to say 'bout that."

The spirit threw back Sam's head and laughed, an evil roar that echoed chillingly round the room.

"_Youu think sooo?_" it grinned, saliva dripping down Sam's chin. "_'Cosss I hear hissss daddy wantssss himmm back…_"

My ears pricked up.

"Wait!" I called out, when Missouri raised her other hand to begin the pull. I paced around the outside of the trap for a few seconds before turning back to the Sleepworm spirit. "_I_ am Sam's father," I stated firmly.

The thing with Sam's face grinned, evilly.

"_But John Winchessster isss the one who created him. You will never be Sssam'ssss real father… and now, John Winchessster wantsss him downstairssss where he belongssss…_"

Sam's body jerked again, then literally _poured _out from between the chains as though he were made of liquid.

"What the fuck?" I tried to get inside the trap, but met with an invisible barrier. The spirit was using the trap to its own advantage, keeping me at bay and away from Sam. "Sammy!"

Missouri wasted no more time and began the pull while she still could, hand held out over the kid's heart. The chains hit the floor and Sam leapt up, eyes flashing purple, body now solid once again and ready for an attack, but Missouri's hold on him was far too strong. She twisted her hand, and a thick, black substance oozed out of Sam's eyes, nostrils, ears and mouth, following her as she stepped back, drawing it away from Sam.

The Sleepworm spirit fought hard, desperate to retain its' host, but unable to resist the psychic pull. Sam choked up large mouthfuls of the black ooze, and fell back into his seat, slumped and out for the count.

Missouri nodded to Dave who threw the glass phial into the air. When it hit the barrier of the trap, the spirit had no choice. It was sucked into the phial with a loud _thunk._

Missouri caught the phial and plugged it up with the rubber bung.

I stared in amazement.

"And that, ladies and gentleman," said Missouri, with a flourish. "is Sleepworm in all it's glory."

She held the bottle up to the light. It was impossible to see through it, but I could make out the angry movements of one very pissed off and captured spirit in the blackness.

This was it, in essence.

Sleepworm consists of spirits or souls summoned from hell, not yet demons but well on their way to it. During life they were probably psychic, or carried some form of natural power, but made the mistake of misusing it. To become Sleepworm, they are bound using black magic to the distilled oils of a rare kind of black plantain which, under other circumstances, would be highly poisonous. It not only gives them that black, fluid like appearance, but also makes them semi-corporeal. Which means that under the right conditions, and with a powerful enough psychic, they can be pulled, or extracted, into glass.

But this one had been spiked with rage, and God knew what else.

This was worrying, because it meant the fight arena organisers were half way towards werewolf demon possession.

A soft moan from the chair had me crossing over the now inactive devil's trap, and carefully checking Sam over.

His eyes fluttered open and he stared up at me.

"Is it gone?" he whispered.

I glanced over at the glass phial Missouri was showing Tobius.

"Oh, I think so," I replied, and gently tugged Sam from the chair. I peered into his face. "How you feeling, Sammy?"

"I'm ok," he said, nodding slowly at first, then with a little more enthusiasm. "Feel great, in fact. Better than I have for a while, now."

He certainly seemed ok, back to his old self from before Jake nearly killed him up at Mont Noir, in fact, judging by the newly returned twinkle in his eyes. Pulling that black sludge from Sam also drew out any lingering toxins and silver. The spirit probably fed on that stuff, which would explain why Sam got his sight back.

Kind of like the most evil detox in the world and I'm pretty sure it's not one you'll find at a Betty Ford Clinic.

We were all feeling good about things. Sam was better, he could see, Missouri had pulled the Sleepworm from his body, breaking the trigger, and Marcus was going to be fine. The only thing we had to deal with now was John Winchester…

"Tobius? Open up!" Castiel's voice could be heard yelling from outside, and he began pounding on the front door.

Missouri, Dave, Sam and I exchanged a look before Sire let his brother in.

"I have news of Crowley," the Beta blurted out before he'd even fully entered the room.

Oh yeah. I'd forgotten about that.

The only things we had to deal with now were John Winchester, Crowley, and a possible pack civil war.

Shit.

_**TBC...**_

_**Aw! Ain't Sammy cute when he's hungry? Makes you want to cook up everything in the cupboards, just to see that dimpled smile!**_

_**So Sam's all better, but is he likely to remain that way?**_

_**Hmm. We shall see...**_

_**Gimme some love, guys!**_

_**ST.**_


	12. Chapter 12

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 12**

_**Now…**_

**Dean takes a bite of his salmon and groans loudly in ecstasy.**

"**Oh man!" he says and licks fish flakes from his lips. "That truly is a work of art."**

**Sam nods. "I know, right?" he replies, and reaches over for another portion of fish. "Definitely not farmed salmon."**

"**What? How can you tell?" Dean stops eating and eyes his _brotherson_ sceptically. "'Cos it had a bigger smile on its face, or something? Sam, you are so full of…"**

"**No, it's true," says Sam, earnestly. "Wild fish always tastes better than farmed, 'cos wild fish lead happier lives with more natural food sources. Makes the meat sweeter."**

**Dean looks like he's about to refute Sam's claim, but he pauses for consideration.**

"**Yeaaah, ok" he concedes, grudgingly. "I guess I can understand that."**

**A small boy with a shy smile is snuggled up under Sam's blanket, and he nods eagerly when Sam offers him a piece of the succulent fish.**

"**Eat it all up, now Logan," says Sam, kindly. "It'll help you become a big, strong wolf someday."**

**The boy chews slowly and methodically on the salmon, clearly taking Sam's advice seriously, unlike his brother, Matthew, who's still struggling to wake up. The older kid snorts softly, before sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. Blinking and staring around, his gaze finally lands on Andy. Matthew kicks off Dean's blanket and launches himself at the werebear with a small battle cry.**

"**Whoa!" Andy yelps, nearly toppling over, and begins laughing helplessly.**

**The boy is tickling him without mercy, digging small hands into Andy's waist, making the werebear giggle stupidly.**

**Dean grins. "Looks like someone taught the kid some bad habits while we were away, huh?"**

**Josey sighs fondly. "Yeah, Matthew, Logan and Janaya decided they wanted to play with Andy.**

**Gerald snorts with laughter. "Andy unwisely decided to show them how much fun a tickle fight can be. Only he didn't count on the three crafty youngsters ganging up on him."**

**Dean laughs loudly. "Serves him right for falling for it!"**

"**I think it's great," says Sam, gazing at the four of them with a wistful smile on his face. "Andy's so good with them."**

"**Hey!" Dean calls out softly, and reaches out to gently rub Sam's left arm. "So are you. You'll be well enough to join in soon enough, then they'll be crawling all over you."**

**Sam just looks down at his arm where Dean is touching it. "Yeah, I know. Just… still feels weird."**

**Dean quirks a concerned eyebrow. "It's not hurting you, is it?"**

**Sam shakes his head. "Nah. And it works just fine, though a little stiff sometimes. Just gonna take some getting used to."**

**Dean stares at him, eyes searching Sam's face. Apparently satisfied that his _brotherson_ is telling the truth, he pats him on the shoulder and says "It'll be good as new before you know it, dude."**

_**Then…**_

Castiel stared at Sam for a second, then nodded approvingly. "You're looking much better, youngster."

Sam nodded. "I feel much better."

"He should do," said Missouri. "I pulled that damn Sleepworm right out of him. It was a spirit alright. A nasty, blackened soul straight from the depths of hell."

Dave raised the glass filled with the black ooze. "If you'll excuse me, I'll get this back to the laboratory and placed in confinement."

The guy nodded to us all and hurried out of the room.

"Good," the Beta answered, abruptly, and turned to Tobius. "At 4 o'clock this afternoon Crowley called a vote of no confidence. Marcus has been confined to his quarters under armed guard until tonight when the council will reconvene."

Holy crap.

Castiel continued. "Tobius and Dean, you have been called to attend as witnesses, Missouri will be required to confirm the exorcism was a success, whereas Sam…" his gazed softened and became apologetic as he glanced at the kid. "I'm afraid you'll be arrested, bound in wrapped silver and made to stand in front of the council…"

Sam paled.

"Now, wait just a damned second," I yelled out, furiously. "I thought you said…"

"Patience, nephew," Castiel reprimanded me, softly. "If we are to beat Crowley, we must be seen to follow the correct procedures or any evidence we have in Sam's favour can and will be dismissed by the council out of hand."

"But…" I began.

"Trust me, Dean," said Castiel, expression hard and uncompromising. "They won't even bother to look at it. Crowley has too many followers, now."

"Always was a slippery bastard," muttered Cook. She rubbed Sam's shoulder gently and whispered something to him. The kid nodded but still looked miserable. Whatever words of comfort she was offering Sam, they weren't working.

Tobius sat down on the bed with a loud huff. "_How?_ That's what I don't understand."

He shook his head, obviously completely bewildered, which was an unusual look for him.

"How on God's green Earth did Crowley get so many of the council on his side? And so quickly!"

"Uh…" Castiel looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Some were _already _on his side, but you're right about his sudden fast gain of allies from the rest of the council."

Tobius raised his head and regarded his brother with narrowed eyes. "Go on."

Castiel sighed, trudged across to the drinks cabinet, grabbed the brandy and didn't even bother pouring it into a glass. He just took a large slug straight from the bottle and wiped the back of a hand across his mouth.

I got the impression he was stressed.

"As you know, I've suspected for some time that the fight arenas were being funded by senior Pack members," he said, and placed the bottle back in the cabinet. Then he hesitated, grabbed it up again, shrugged, and took another healthy belt. "We knew who it was but Crowley and I just couldn't _prove_ it. Then the one person who might have been able to provide us with the evidence… _disappeared_."

I thought about that. "That Giuseppe guy, right?"

Castiel nodded. "That's the one. In fact, he contacted me that very night by phone, said he had something important to show me. A blank email showed up seconds later, and I never heard from him again." He smiled, grimly. "Crowley doesn't know about that part."

"So, if Crowley _was_ organising the fight arenas, funded by Pack elders," Sam said slowly, his mind ticking over. "And he was obviously experimenting with Sleepworm…" he turned to us, eyes wide and mouth dropped open.

Tobius nodded and looked up at Castiel. "Christ. That's how he's doing it," he said, quietly. "Isn't it?"

I caught on quickly. "The Sleepworm. He's using it to control the elders by ghost possession, and when Crowley realised Giuseppe was gonna spill the beans, he had him killed."

That's gotta be a new one. A non-lunar pack run by ghost possessed werewolves? With control over a powerful, ancient race, he'd be seeking to take over the whole world.

"There's something else to consider here," Missouri spoke up, quietly. "Those spirits are only the beginning. Remember, before they got yanked out of hell they were already half way to becoming demons."

I stared at her. "Are you saying that they could go all the way? Become fully certified demons?"

She shrugged. "It ain't beyond the realms, honey. All it would take it is a good hard shove from a powerful enough demon, and over they go. And I have no idea if a devil's trap can hold 'em if they're riding a _Were_."

I breathed out slowly. _Oh hell. _"A powerful demon…" I glanced at Tobius. "Like John Winchester? Is he powerful enough?"

Sam sat up immediately, eyes darting between Cook and Tobius. "Could he do it, Missouri?"

The Cook shrugged again. "Well, given that he's been charged with collecting Sam for a seat in hell, he would certainly have some kind of higher status than your average demon. So yeah, it's possible."

We were all stunned into a brief silence, only broken by Sire.

"Hold on," Tobius cleared his throat, frowning. "We're getting ahead of ourselves, here. There's nothing to suggest your former human father is at the bottom of this, _as yet_." He added when he sensed my forming protest. "So let's just take one issue at a time. And at the moment, the issue is getting Sam fully exonerated, hopefully taking Crowley down in the process. And in order to achieve that, we need to make sure the pack council members are fully…_ enlightened._"

He looked around the room, checking that everyone was on the same page. When we all nodded, Tobius got to his feet.

"Right. Castiel, what time is the council convening?"

His brother put down the brandy with some reluctance. "Usual time. Midnight."

This is a typical meeting time for most packs, signalling new challenges and fresh decisions ushered in by a bright new day.

Provided it wasn't pissing down with rain, of course.

Tobius bit his bottom lip. "Well, we've clearly got some work to do. Missouri? Are you up for this?" he peered at Cook, worriedly. "This won't be too much for you? If so, I can always call in some friends to assist…"

I'm certain he was referring to Pastor Jim and Bobby Singer, but Missouri clearly had issues with others encroaching on her turf.

"Oh _hell_ no! This is _my _pack!" she replied, indignantly. "I can handle this, don't _you _worry!"

"Alright!" I said, and clapped a hand on Sammy's back. "Have we got time for a little fun before then?" I sent a meaningful glance Sire's way, who nodded at Castiel.

Castiel checked his watch. "Your guard will change in approximately five minutes. I can distract them." He looked across the room at Sam, showing a rare, fond and friendly smile. "Enjoy the hunt, youngsters, and be back by ten for the next guard change."

He looked around at all of us. "Remember. No thought projections tonight. Maintain silent running at all times. We must not give Crowley any excuses."

With that, Castiel and Missouri got up and Tobius escorted them to the door.

"I'll join you two in the kitchens in a little while," Tobius was saying, "once I've shown Sam and Dean the way to the hunting grounds."

"Good," replied Castiel. "So long as they keep to the rear of the forest, they should go unnoticed by other wolves. It's darker out there."

In other words, no one would be able to recognise Sam by his distinctive red colouring in the dark. At least, not from a distance.

By the time Castiel had distracted the new guards with a stern lecture about something unimportant, Sire had indeed taken us deep into hunting territory. We'd slunk out one of the rear windows, walked for miles across pack grounds, taking all the back alleys in the built up areas, sneaking by on roof tops, and avoiding all open lanes. We crossed streams and fields where the few cows and sheep still awake at that hour watched us with docile curiosity.

"Hey, guys?" Sam had whispered to us once we were out in the open and away from prying minds. "Are we sure this is gonna work? I mean, for Crowley to have pulled this off he must've had the whole council possessed." He huffed, and glanced around, worriedly. "And how? He went around injecting them in their sleep or something?

"I don't think it was the entire council, though I'm sure he's working on it," said Tobius with a grimace. "If he'd succeeded in corrupting all of them, then he would've been able to take the Alpha seat without a fight. All this business of a no confidence vote would have proved unnecessary."

That sure was something to consider, but Tobius had more to say.

"I suspect that Crowley's true supporters volunteered right off the bat, probably believed all his promises of riches and power, but I'll bet he didn't tell them the price of possession: being plunged into a black pit in your own mind," he said, thoughtfully. "But the others that are loyal to Marcus were probably possessed by force, and some might even have a form of immunity to possession. That's why this hasn't gone as smoothly as I suspect Crowley had hoped, because many council members are fighting it." Tobius sighed, heavily. "I just don't understand what he can hope to achieve when all is said and done. He'll find himself deposed someday, by dissatisfied pack members and council alike when he fails to achieve their goals and expectations. And even if that doesn't happen, the possessed will eventually rise up against him. Most spirits and demons are power hungry after all, and not the most loyal of beings."

He's right. Being Alpha is not a power trip for the light hearted. The responsibility is enormous, but especially so for a pack this size. I was beginning to understand why someone with a brain would hesitate before accepting such an honour.

Add to that, history has taught us via some exceedingly harsh lessons that no empire, no matter how strong it starts out, or how great it becomes, can possibly last forever. And Crowley's fledgling empire wouldn't last five minutes once his demon-possessed non-lunars got their grubby paws on it.

They'd tear it to pieces and then start on the rest of the world.

I sensed rather than saw Sam's nervous glances. I felt his eyes on me as Tobius whispered the reminder to return by ten o'clock.

We stripped off and hid our robes inside a hollowed out fallen log.

Sam shifted from foot to foot, eyes scanning the area.

"Hey!" I said, grinning from ear to ear. "You need to relax, ok? Forget about everything for a couple hours."

Sam bit his lip. "Dean, I'm about to go on trial for attempted murder, with a council of possessed _Weres_ as my judges, jury…" he swallowed hard "… and executioners. Now, you tell me. How exactly am I supposed to forget about it?"

Kid had a point.

"Sammy, look at me," I said and waited until he fixed me with that scared, mournful gaze. "Take a slow, deep breathe, and look up at the sky."

Sam nodded and followed the instruction dutifully.

"See that?" I pointed up at the bright galaxies, milky ways and other such starry shit. I'm no astronomer, as you might have gathered. "Haven't a damn clue what any of those constellations, or whatever, are called, but I swear on all of them that we'll get you out of this, and everything's gonna be fine."

Sam snorted reluctantly.

"So, are you with me, kid?" I asked, bumping his shoulder with mine.

"Yeah, I guess so," he murmured back with a faint smile.

"Good boy!" I whispered, changing and melting into the darkness. "Now stay close…"

We had a good romp around for the next few hours, chasing each other and rolling around on the forest floor, scared a few squirrels and found a small lake not far from the pack wall. Sam waded in eagerly, letting the water lift his long fur, then rolled on his back, floating peacefully, paws up, eyes half closed in bliss.

A few trout swam by underwater and I dove down, kicked my legs powerfully, and snatched up a large fish.

Remembering the rule not to thought project, I swam up to Sammy, and presented him with the trout, nudging it onto his furry belly as a gift. Sam used his large paws to lift it up and examine it in the starlight reflected off the water. He nodded his thanks and proceeded to tear it preciselyin half with his fangs, then offered one half to me.

And yeah, I was right. _Precisely_ in half, like he could've used a tape measure on it or something.

He's such a dork, and I can't help but love him for it.

It was weird, not communicating by thought projections, but not altogether unpleasant. Sammy and I can read each other like a book most of the time anyway. But I think we were both still looking forward to the end of 'silent running' as Castiel put it.

Our time together ran out way too fast, and we reluctantly headed back to our pile of robes. By the time we got back to our quarters Castiel was already waiting outside, with Tobius standing in the doorway, puffing on a cigar.

"Hurry," Castiel mumbled, and glared at us. "You're thirty seconds late. The new guard is on his way, though I stalled him as long as I could with futile errands. When he gets here, you act pleased with what he brings you, understood?"

I looked from him to Tobius and back. "Uh… ok?"

Tobius smirked but said nothing, just backed away from the door, allowing us entry.

Sam opened his mouth to speak the second we got in the room, but true to Castiel's timing, we soon heard footsteps outside.

"I have brought those… _items_, you requested, Sir," came a confused sounding voice.

"You can leave those with me," Castiel answered, brusquely.

The Pack Beta marched inside and dumped a load of stuff down on the bed.

We stared at the items.

Castiel shifted from foot to foot. "I told him you were nervous and liked to shine shoes as therapy, so he brought the entire night watch's dress shoes for spit and polish. I advise you to get started in case someone checks up on this later."

We carried on staring and he shifted again.

"Or not," he mumbled, now looking a little embarrassed. "Look, I couldn't think of anything else, ok? I'm no good at lying!"

"Alright, that's enough!" Tobius narrowed his eyes at me, warning me not to make fun of my uncle. "We've got more important things to consider."

Sam absently picked up a shoe, grabbed a tin of polish and a clean duster. "So," he said, cleared his throat and spat, loudly, on the toe of the shoe. "What's the plan? How are we going in?"

I grimaced but Sire gestured for me to pick up a shoe.

"Oh come on, Dean. Castiel's right. It _can_ be therapeutic," he said with a smug grin, but he at least did join in.

By the time we'd heard the plan, and it was time to leave for court, there was a neat line of black dress shoes so damn shiny you could see your face in them.

And, strangely, it _had_ calmed our nerves a little.

The guard was astonished when we handed the shoes back to him.

"Oh… wow! That's amazing!" he offered us tentative half smile. "Thanks, guys. You saved us a whole lot of work."

"You're welcome," answered Tobius, voice a little hoarse.

Yeah, spit and polishing over ten sets of shoes in less than two hours can leave you with a mouth like the Mohave Desert.

But the time had come.

The booted feet of Sam's prison escort sounded loudly, marching up the path towards our quarters.

"Squaaaad!" came the Sergeant's long, drawn out bellow. "Halt!"

The marching snapped to a smart halt like a single gun shot.

We waited, tense and nervous, for the inevitable knock on the door.

Tobius quickly clasped Sam to him in a one armed hug. "You'll be fine, my boy," I heard him whisper. "We won't let anything happen to you, I promise."

I followed it up with a hug of my own.

"He's right. You'll be out of there before you know it, dude," I stepped back and stared right at him. "One way or another. I won't let them take you from me, Sammy. We'll damn well run if we have to."

Sam seemed to relax a little and I could see a hint of relief in his eyes.

He nodded and glanced down at his feet. "I know. Thanks guys…" he whispered back.

The knock came, sounding ominous in the otherwise silent room.

Castiel waited for Tobius to grant permission, before opening the door.

Sergeant Fisher stood tall and grim before us, his face a mask of apology at what he was about to do.

"Sam Winchester," he boomed out in that deep, South African accent. "Son of The Honourable Dean Winchester, Grandson of His Grace the Duke of Normandy and Aquitaine. You are charged with the attempted murder of Marcus, our Pack Lord Alpha. It is my duty to escort you under restraint, and according to the lore and ordinances of the Canadian Pack, to the Council Chambers for judgement. Any attempts to delay or disrupt this course of duty will be met with extreme force as necessary."

He handed over a set of deep blue coloured sweats.

"Put these on, boy," said the Sergeant, kindly. "You'll be more comfortable."

I heard Sam gulp and I squeezed his shoulder. "It's ok, Sammy."

"Yeah," he said, not sounding convinced, but gladly got out of the robe and pulled on the soft sweats. "At least this is more manly, huh?" he laughed weakly.

It was all pretty intimidating, and even more so when they brought out the restraints.

Huge silver manacles, for both feet and wrists, were connected by chain links that had to be at least my hand's span in length.

"I thought you said these were wrapped," said Sam, his voice shaking with fear.

"Calm yourself, young pup," said Tobius, gently. "They are wrapped in a light plastic coating. The hardened silver is merely symbolic and meant for restraint only. It is not there to hurt you, I promise."

Sam nodded and stepped forward, head held high and proud, but I could still see the truth. Poor kid was terrified.

And so was I.

The shackles made Sam's wrists look tiny, and the chains themselves, wound as they were around his body, pinning his arms to his back made him look small and vulnerable, despite the fact he towered over most of the prison escort.

The ankle cuffs were designed to weigh him down in case he took it into his head to run. And no kidding! Sam could barely lift his feet under those damn things. Fortunately, the Sergeant waited for the kid, and even helped to steady him when he wobbled.

Sam was taken outside and the escort formed up around him in a deep, impenetrable werewolf square.

My son turned his head to look at me over his shoulder, his gaze pleading and scared, body trembling.

I broke protocol, and to hell with the consequences. _It's ok, Sammy. I'm right here._

_We both are. _Tobius was right alongside me._ We're not going to leave you, pup._

Sam nodded. _Thanks guys._

It was all the poor kid could manage. He turned his head away to face the torturous journey ahead.

"Squaaaad! By the right!" the Sergeant bawled out. "Sloooow…_March!_"

In deference to his heavy chains, the prisoner was slow marched off into the night with Tobius and I trailing along behind.

Several pack members lined the route to the Council Chambers. Some were silent and watchful, perhaps afraid, but others were a little more vocal, yelling obscenities at the young, captive werewolf, calling him 'Alpha Slayer', which apparently isn't anywhere near as cool as it sounds, and is supposed to be one of the highest insults you could hurl at some poor bastard while they're making their way to court.

But that wasn't all they hurled at Sammy.

A rotten tomato sailed through the air and Sam was helpless to avoid it, but one of the guards, marching alongside him, reached out, caught it one handed before it could impact Sam's face, and threw it back.

Sergeant Fisher, having seen this, marched over to the perpetrator, a tiny, snubbed nosed, scruffy looking werewolf with an arrogant smirk on his face, and yanked him up by his shirt collar.

"There's lore in this pack, and in this land, Smithy," the Sergeant growled, snout morphing out of his face and revealing an impressive set of fangs. "Innocent until proven guilty. But I _saw_ you throw that tomato, that makes _you _guilty of carrying missile vegetables in a public place!" He dragged the little wolf away and along with the escort. "You are charged with the attempted assault of Sam Winchester…"

The crowd had fallen completely silent, and watched Sire and me with some trepidation, probably wondering what we were going to do next.

Tobius stalked over to them and stood, growling menacingly, glaring at them.

"Anybody else wish to say something about my Grandson?" he said, softly, and whirled around in mock surprise. "No one? Really? Well, isn't _that _interesting! Because you certainly had a lot to say a few seconds ago."

Tobius took a deep breath and suddenly howled long, loud and furiously. The crowd collectively took a fearful step back, gazing at him with wide eyes when he followed them.

"You forget yourselves, _pack_!" he spat the word, contemptuously. "And you forget who I am! Anyone who so much as _looks_ at either my son or grandson in what I consider to be a _funny _way had better start running…" he paused for effect and finished in a low, threatening voice "'Cos I'll be out to _getcha!_"

The crowd gaped at one another, and dispersed instantly.

Tobius shrugged when I stared at him, a little amazed and just a little freaked out.

"Lemme guess," I murmured, studying his guilty face. "You went to drama school right?"

Sire just cleared his throat and ignored the question. "Come on. We need to catch up to Sam. Poor boy will be wondering where we got to."

And he was. Sam's head was craned around almost one hundred and eighty degrees on his neck, trying to find us, eyes pinched with worry.

_It's ok, Sam, _muttered Sire, soothingly._ We had a little crowd control to deal with enroute._

_Oh, and didn't __**we **__just? _I replied to that, sarcastically. _Sammy? Your grandpa's a drama queen._

_Really? _Sam just sounded relieved we were back in his line of sight. _You surprise me._

Before I could answer, Tobius nudged me and pointed.

The Council Chamber building was around two hundred meters of awkward slow marching ahead of us, and it looked every bit as intimidating as I had imagined of an inquisition head quarters. Tall, dark, unfriendly looking, with steep towers rising up into the clouds, just right for imprisoning princesses in. How the hell I hadn't noticed this leviathan of a building before was beyond me. It should have been possible to see it clear across pack grounds, and even beyond the main wall.

"Another magic based shield, of sorts," Tobius muttered, perhaps having seen the look on my face. "Courtesy of Missouri."

I swallowed hard when I spotted more armed guards lining the pathway, and surrounding the large, oak double doors. This event was _huge._

"Sire?"

"Yes Dean?"

"We gonna be taking a _long _fucking vacation when this shit's over."

"Oh, I think so," he nodded in firm agreement.

_TBC..._

_And so the trial begins._

_Don't forget, you can catch my everyday useless comments and doggy photo captions on Twitter under (at) skagtrendy37._

_Now. Show me how much you want the next chapter._

_Love ST._


	13. Chapter 13

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 13**

**NB: A final thank you goes out to ASH48 for all her hard work. Here's wishing her luck in all her future endeavours.**

_**Now…**_

**The fish has long since been demolished. Wolves, humans, and bears alike sit round the boys, listening quietly, sipping mead and occasionally nodding in sympathy. **

**The fire is crackling away. Bobby Singer carefully places another log on top and everyone watches it catch and flare. The gruff hunter stares into the flames, eyes narrowed and his face, illuminated by the fire, appears drawn and angry.**

**Pastor Jim places a hand on his shoulder and when Bobby turns to him, one eyebrow raised, questioningly, the priest offers him a look of comfort that seems to say _I know. I'm angry for them, too._**

**Tobius and Lucas are back, both in human form this time. While Lucas rejoins Bobby in staring at the fire, Tobius has fixed his solemn gaze on the boys, watching and waiting patiently.**

**The atmosphere is calm with an underlying sadness, and no one says a word to interrupt. All present seem to understand that this is more than just some (very) entertaining story telling. **

**This is also some much needed therapeutic release.**

**Sam stares down at his hands, seemingly lost in the past. "I kind of understood how it must feel to wait on Death Row," he shrugs while Dean watches him, eyes soft with worry and concern. "It was terrifying, not knowing what was going to happen, if they'd find me guilty, or if you guys" he glances up at Dean, briefly "were going to be in a position to break me out of there if the worst came to the worst."**

**Dean nods. "And it almost did," he replies, softly.**

_**Then…**_

The world seemed to fall silent in our wake as we passed through the double doors of the Council Chambers. A long hallway stretched ahead of us, lined with oil paintings of some stern and grumpy looking wolves, presumably the Council elders. Candles, shielded behind glass and wrought iron carriage lanterns lit the way, revealing a few statues here and there. I'm no expert on mythology anymore than I am on astronomy, but these looked like some kind of ancient Greek deities.

Under any other circumstances, Sam would no doubt have spent some time browsing and enjoying himself considerably. The big girly geek.

The prison guard came to a halt on Sergeant Fisher's command, their boots striking the marble floor in accompaniment to the rattle of Sam's chains.

I looked up and noticed the large oak doors, with a wrought iron doorknocker in the shape of a wolf's head holding a ring in its mouth.

The Sergeant about faced and motioned for Sire and I to step forward.

"You'd best get yourselves seated," he whispered, staring straight ahead as though he wasn't even talking to us. "The sooner the better." His gaze flickered to Tobius' who gave a barely perceptible nod.

So. That confirmed my suspicions. Whatever Sire and Castiel had planned, along with Missouri, Sergeant Fisher was in on the game. That actually made me feel a little more relaxed, and not so anxious about leaving Sammy out here without me, and under armed guard.

Sam wasn't watching. His eyes were darting back and forth, up and down, and I could see how he struggled to keep his breathing under control. Kid was either on the verge of a panic attack, or losing his temper. Probably both, and I can't say as I blamed him.

_Easy, Sam. _I waited until I caught his eye and stared right at him. _Just stay calm, ok? And don't speak unless you're asked to._

Sam scowled, petulantly. _I'm not a child, Dean._

Yeah, definitely a temper issue. Not something I wanted to provoke with a smartassed comment.

_No, you're not a child. _I answered, sternly. _You're an adult who can look after himself and knows when to keep his mouth shut. Right?_

The scowl softened a little.

_RIGHT? _I insisted on an answer, one way or another. _I mean it Sam! Your life depends on it!_

Eventually, he nodded and some of the anger drained out of him, leaving his shoulders slumped in defeat. That was more the look I was going for. Self righteous anger wasn't going to work on a non-lunar jury – if anything, it would only convince them all the more of Sam's so-called guilt - but a forlorn vulnerability just might sway the balance.

It also might fool them into thinking Sam was beaten and broken, giving them all a false sense of security.

_Yeah. Ok. _And back came the scared, little-boy-lost routine.

I winked back at him, conveying my approval. Sam just gave a kind of nervous half-smile, but he got the message alright. Technically, he was the lawyer in our pack since he went to college for a little while but, I guess, when your own life is quite literally on the line it ain't always so easy to keep a straight head.

Sire nudged me with an elbow. "Time to go."

Instead of going through the double doors, Tobius herded me over to a much less impressive looking door off to the left. Just before we disappeared through, I sent Sam another quick, reassuring smile.

The door closed behind us with a quiet _snick, _and we turned to face a grand circle of graduated marble pillars and steps. It was like a Roman forum or cathedral. Down on the main floor were a series of marble pews with soft red velvet cushions, thank God! I wasn't sure how long this trial was going to take, if indeed it was going to be a _proper _trial, but my ass was clenching at the mere thought of sitting on that hard marble for hours on end.

The pews were divided by three aisles, each aisle leading off towards a door. The centre door was obviously the one Sam would be marched through, and I wondered where he would be seated. Then I spied the velvet cushion lying on a small marble base right at the front and centre of the pews. There were two metal loops embedded in either end of the marble base, and I had my answer.

It was a _black _cushion…

Something broke a little inside of me.

Sire grasped my arm, holding me back, and giving me silent warning not to erupt. After all, I'd just given Sam a lecture about keeping his temper under control. I'd hardly be doing him any favours if I lost my cool on his behalf.

"That's the defendant's stand," Sire whispered, inconsequentially. "Though Sam will be allowed to sit should he wish to, it is considered traditional to kneel and it will go down better with the elders."

Tobius was still holding out for a peaceful ending to all this, but we both knew the truth when we saw the cushion.

Seated or kneeling, I guess that decision was Sam's. But that black cushion was sending icy shivers up and down my spine, reminding me that this was all a fix, a kind of race. It confirmed that it was a set up on both sides, so _not _a real trial after all. It was just a question of who would finish first, because the outcome had already been decided.

On the highest steps above us, dressed in the rich, red robes of the pack, were around forty non-lunars staring back at us. Each wore a broach made of black iron, the shape of the motif indecipherable from this distance, but I guessed – correctly, I found out when we got closer – that they were of the pack emblem seen on the gates at the front entrance; three wolves, howling at the moon.

The elders sat silent and watchful, as though waiting to see what we'd do next. They looked to be in their early thirties, but I knew for a fact they were much, much older. Older than Tobius, in fact.

Even if Sire hadn't told me, I think I would have felt it the minute I walked in the room.

Some of these guys dated back to before the ancient vampire vs werewolf wars when humans were being caught and slaughtered in the crossfire. So, we're talking at least several millennia ago. Pretty staggering, huh?

"Come on," said Tobius, not so easily intimidated. He waved and smiled at Missouri, who was seated near the front, behind Castiel. Cook waved back, grinning from ear to ear.

Castiel rolled his eyes and appeared a little disgruntled.

"This is not a social event," he hissed to his older brother when we were within earshot. "Will you at least try to take this seriously?"

Apparently, it was considered rude to thought project when inside the Council Chambers. So Sire took the letter to the extreme, as it were…

Tobius grinned wolfishly. "You know me!" he loud and jovial. "I like to make an entrance!"

He turned and bowed to the elders, some of whom smothered their snorts and grins, and respectfully bowed their heads right back.

They were obviously supporters of Marcus as Pack Alpha.

One of the she-wolves, however, didn't seem nearly so amused. She regarded me coldly, as though I were nothing more than a piece of dirt caught on the bottom of her shoe.

"Who's Ms Pleasant up there?" I asked, without taking my eyes off her.

"That's Bela, Crowley's mistress," Tobius murmured back. "And don't go confusing that with 'life mate'. She's well and truly his bitch."

Hmm. Now that I was closer to the elders I could see she was attractive enough; cat like, green eyes glowing with a bold intelligence, and long, silky, dark brown hair. I held her gaze, my head up, shoulders back, eyes narrowed.

But she had me beat hands down. As we faced off, she cultivated a faintly amused half-smile, as though she had just promoted me from floor dirt to pet gerbil.

I could see why Crowley kept her around. Though young in appearance – by far the youngest looking of the elders – I could _feel_ the years on her. It was there in her eyes; timeless, ageless, sin in a robe.

Shit. I had a crush on my uncle's ho.

Speaking of which…

"Where is that slimy worm anyways?" I asked, breaking eye contact with the sexy elder.

"If you're referring to Crowley," said Tobius, gesturing with his head towards the other small door on the opposite side of the room to where we came in. "The pompous little turd will no doubt arrive later rather than sooner." Sire's smile was grim. "He has to make an even bigger entrance than me, it seems."

Indeed, I tried hard to act with dignity but the smirk escaped just as the right side door opened to reveal Crowley, resplendent in his red robe and matching… well, not sure what it was supposed to be, but it looked a little like a one of those hats the Musketeers would wear, complete with large feather.

Yeah. That was definitely an entrance alright, 'cos Crowley is just one _big _entrance, if you get my meaning.

"Oh dear God," Tobius muttered, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "What on earth are you wearing, brother?"

Crowley glanced over at us and smiled widely.

"Good day to you brothers and sisters," he said, just this side of cheeky, and tilted his head, indicating the hat. "I thought it rather dashing, myself."

And he'd obviously practiced majestic sweeping, possibly in front of his bedroom mirror, because there was no denying his majestic _sweep_ down the aisle towards the front of the court. He bowed deeply, and I wondered if his tongue was long enough to reach from that distance. I'm sure he could have licked the boots of the elders if he'd tried hard enough.

Then I caught the look on Crowley's face and realised something.

He wasn't sucking up to the elders. Not at all.

He was treating them with utter contempt, and they all knew it.

Well, some of them did. Most were just staring down at us, eyes a little blank and intense. It was masked well, but it was just possible to tell who was infected by Sleepworm, and I estimated at least two thirds had been got at by Crowley.

Some of the unaffected elders scowled down at him, others just looked nonchalant. Bela hadn't taken her eyes off me, however, and I wondered how long it would take dear Uncle Crowley to notice that his woman was openly flirting with his nephew…

"I wouldn't bother if I were you, pup" said Crowley, leaning towards me as though offering me the benefit of his wisdom, and whispering loudly out the corner of his mouth. "She'd chew you up and spit you out. Believe me."

"Oh, I believe you," I sneered at him. "And you two deserve each other for that reason alone."

Crowley batted his eyelashes at me, and placed one hand on his chest.

"You wound me, young pup, your own uncle," he sniffed and shook his head, feigning hurt. "How could you?"

"Quite easily, you murdering bastard, and don't call me that!" I fumed, angrily. "I am not your _pup!_"

"That's enough!" One of the elders snapped before Crowley could get another word in. "Let's just get on with this, shall we? We have important Pack decisions to discuss with the Alpha."

"Yes, indeed," Bela spoke up, sounding bored, but her eyes gleamed with excitement. "Assuming the Alpha is fit for office, of course."

The large, double doors at the back swung open with a loud creek of aged hinges, and we all turned instinctively to watch the slow procession of the prison guards towards the marble stand.

Sam managed to keep pace, head neither up nor down, but eyes lowered. I knew the moment he spotted the black velvet cushion, because his steps faltered ever so slightly. Unless you knew the kid like I did, you wouldn't have thought anything of it.

But Sam had recognised the significance of the cushion.

Black. Colour of the condemned.

He did me proud, kept his cool and didn't freak out. Keeping those wide, frightened puppy dog eyes in place, Sam trudged along with his guard unit, and stood passively by while Sergeant Fisher chained him to the defendant's stand.

The Sergeant whispered something to the kid that none of us could hear, but Sam just shook his head. Fisher paused and eyed his charge for a moment, then nodded and gently helped Sam to kneel.

Sam stared ahead of him, eyes still lowered and gazing at nothing in particular.

"Sergeant?" Bela suddenly called out. "Tighten those chains!"

Castiel leapt to his feet.

"That's hardly necessary, my Lords and Ladies," he protested, and indeed some of the elders seemed to agree, judging by the sound of disapproving gasps echoing around us. "Sam has shown complete cooperation throughout the process, and moreover given his word, as grandson of the Duke himself, that he will not…"

"Castiel," Bela snapped out, angry yet somehow smug all at once. "He is charged with attempted murder by violence. We hardly want a repeat should he get free somehow."

I nearly stood up to yell at the bitch but Tobius and Missouri kept a firm grip on my arms from both sides.

"Dean, calm down and wait for the signal," Sire muttered in my ear.

We didn't need a scene, not with most of the council hopped up on Sleepworm. It could easily turn into a blood bath way too soon.

"Sergeant Fisher," Bela repeated, this time with emphasis when the guy looked distinctly uneasy at the break in protocol. "You _will_ tighten that boy's chains. _Now._"

"My Lady," Fisher nodded, stiffly, and complied as gently as he could. This time I did managed to catch what he muttered to my son, and I silently thanked him.

"I'm sorry, child."

"It's ok," Sam whispered back. "You've done nothing wrong, Sergeant."

Bela leaned back on her cushion and turned that smug, superior gaze on me, as if to say 'what are you going to do now, hmm?'

What I _wanted _to do was wipe that smile off her face, and I had several painful NC17 ways in mind I could choose from. But Crowley was probably right about the chewing up and spitting out part.

"Now that we're all sitting comfortably," the little bitch continued, as though she were chairing the proceedings. "Well, _some_ of us anyway," she giggled when Sam blushed and ducked his head. "Shall we decide on a verdict?"

"Wait a minute!" I couldn't hold back any longer. This was my _son_ they were all about to pass judgment on. "You haven't heard the evidence!"

Bela laughed, high and loud, a nice sounding feminine laugh, a _sexy _bedroom laugh. And it made me cringe.

"What on earth for, dear boy?" she said, smiling and looking genuinely perplexed.

It was that look that set me off. Damn the signal.

_Stupid bitch!_

The entire council gasped like a bunch of nuns seeing a hard core porn movie for the first time.

_Yeah that's right, you heard me! And the same goes for all of you! _I raged and stalked out to the front of the court room, ignoring Castiel, Tobius and Missouri, who were frantically signalling me to shut up. _Call yourselves elders? So wise and noble, but it's beneath you to hear the evidence? You rank, arrogant assholes! You call that 'looking after your pack interests'? Yet, you'd happily and knowingly send a young innocent to his death just to preserve some ancient fucking lore that no longer has any place in the modern world? Well, fuck you! Time has moved on and you either move with it or get left behind!_

I caught Tobius' exasperated nod, lunged forward, knocked Sam to the marble floor, and shielded his body with my own.

"Now Missouri!" Sire yelled out.

At the same time, Sergeant Fisher changed and leapt at Crowley, knocking him down.

Castiel and Tobius changed and sprung forward, snarling and snapping at the panicking elders. Some of them had the presence of mind to change, but others were either too shocked to think straight or were so screwed up by the Sleepworm they couldn't even managed it.

Missouri lowered her head and raised both hands.

Around thirty sets of eyes glowed purple and the elders snarled, bucking and writhing, trying to get down from their perches to attack Cook. But Castiel and Tobius howled and snapped viciously, holding them back.

Bela, I noticed, wasn't affected at all by Sleepworm, but she sat on her cushion watching the ensuing chaos with borderline amusement. She tilted her head, stood up, lifted her cushion and gave it a thorough examination.

"Hmm," she said loudly, clearly heard over the roar of angry spirits being forcibly removed from their werewolf meat suits. "Very clever, Missouri. Devil's traps sewn into the cushions along with a little of your mojo dirt."

She actually sounded genuinely impressed.

Missouri ignored her with a snort of disgust and carried on with the exorcism.

Unfortunately, Bela's eyes narrowed and I knew she had spotted the weak link in our plan.

Before the Council had filed into the court some time before, a few _adjustments _had been made to the room. While Missouri had replaced the velvet cushions with her 'spike' versions, Tobius and Castiel had strategically placed small glass phials nearby, hidden behind various pillars and plant pots.

But they _were _glass, and therefore fragile.

Bela had the advantage of not being caught in a devil's trap, so she stalked towards the nearest phial, robes hitched up to reveal long, luscious, shapely legs, stiletto heeled boot raised and ready to kick. But she never made it.

Marcus seemed to materialise from nowhere right behind her. He grabbed Bela by the shoulders and whipped her around to face him.

She didn't even get time to scream before her throat was a torn and bloodied mess.

The Alpha stared at her, stern but sad, her blood dripping from his snout.

When his face morphed back from the partial change, he looked even more devastated.

_I knew it was you, Bela. And I'm sorry you had to let us all down._

When she had gasped her last breath, he gently laid her body out on the floor, sent me a quick nod, and then, changing fully in mid-flight, leapt headfirst into the battle to assist his brothers.

Crowley was holding off the Sergeant and his guards successfully. After all, he helped train them, so he knew all their strengths and weaknesses, not to mention Crowley had lots more years of warrior experience under his belt.

That, and he was one dirty fighter. He had everything to lose, because the minute the elders were free of the spirits, he was well and truly in the shit. Many of the elders were on Marcus' side still, and the rest would be quickly hunted down and apprehended.

Crowley would be outnumbered and backed into a corner. If I were him, I would choose a moment real soon to bolt and run like hell.

Sam was squirming under me.

_Dean, what's going on? Is it working?_

I stared at the scene in amazement. Pretty sure I've never witness anything quite so surreal before, and that's saying something.

_Y-yeah, Sammy. I think so._

Each infected elder was pinned to their cushion, with the black Sleepworm goo struggling out of their mouths.

I shifted so that Sam could see.

He wrinkled his nose in disgust. _Geez. Tell me I didn't look like that!_

_Sammy?_ I deadpanned, not missing a trick in spite of the drama going on around us. _You looked like that._

_Aw man, _he whined. _That's just gross._

Crowley let out a snarl, threw off the Sergeant and three of his men, knocking them into the other guards, changed and made a dash for the exit.

_Shit, Sire he's getting away._

Crowley looked back at me, very briefly, grinning widely, beady eyes flashing at me.

I went rigid with shock.

_No way. It couldn't be…Sire!_

But Tobius was already busy trying to hold back the newly freed up elders, some of whom were also trying to pick their moment to escape, whereas others were just plain fighting their way out. It became confusing after that, because the Alpha supporters began to turn on the Crowley supporters, and it was hard to tell who were the good guys. Castiel, Marcus and Tobius were still in the thick of it, unaware that their traitorous brother had escaped.

Unaware of what he'd _become._

_Dean, go. _Sam ordered, but I hesitated too long. I couldn't just leave him there, trussed up and helpless when there were still hostile werewolves around. If one slipped the clutches of Sire and the others, anything could happen to him.

_Now! _He all but yelled at me.

Sergeant Fisher limped over to us, blood pouring from his snout and staining his fur. _Go on. I'll look after the boy. _He puffed and panted. _My men are wounded, so you'll be faster than any of us. And you're gonna need to be fast to catch that wiley bastard._

_Huh? _I blinked stupidly.

The Sergeant pushed at me with his dark muzzle. _Crowley is the fastest thing on four legs in the entire pack. He's been clocked at speeds way above the Cheetah._

_Aw shit._

Figures, huh?

What else had that smug bastard got up his sleeve?

It seemed a lot more, because when I got outside the chambers and raced along to the front gates, he'd already managed to con his way off pack territory. The duty guards wouldn't have known any better; no one in the chambers would have had the time or opportunity to call the guard house and have Crowley arrested. So, when approached by their superior officer and co-head of the NLSU, they wouldn't have had any reason to detain him.

They just let him go.

Wish like hell I'd thought of that earlier.

_Dammnit!_

_Dean, let's go._ Sam called out. _Fisher called ahead but it was too late. He told the guards to let us go after Crowley._

He appeared at my side, eyes glowing blue-green, paws pounding the cobblestones.

Together, we raced after our uncle, out the huge iron and oak doors and disappeared into the wilderness, following Crowley's scent. Leaving the pack grounds behind, I cast one last glance at the emblem on the gate.

Now I understood about that third wolf under the moon.

Marcus, Crowley and Castiel.

Except it was never really Crowley.

It could _never_ be him.

Sam bumped his shoulder with mine. He could see what I was thinking.

_It was hellish clever, Dean. You couldn't have known._

No. Because, though he'd hid it successfully for the most part, he still gave himself away.

And let's face it, we should've guessed right from the outset that something was wrong.

Crowley had somehow turned himself into a Type One.

_TBC..._

_So Crowley's on the loose, and obviously has plans of his own. _

_Can Sam and Dean track him down before things get out of hand?_

_Hmm. Gimme some love and I might just tell you..._

_Cheers everyone._

_Love ST._


	14. Chapter 14

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 14**

_**Now…**_

**Tobius is sitting between the boys, an arm wrapped round each of them, long, elegant fingers clasping their shoulders tightly.**

"**Of all the tricks I expected my brother to pull, that was the least likely," he says, sadly, but his eyes flash green with anger. "Well, after trying to kill Marcus, and then Sam by default, of course."**

"**At the time, I just didn't understand why," Dean comments. "After all, by becoming a Type One he voluntarily gave up any right to the Alpha seat."**

"**Or, indeed, _any_ right to pack rule," his Sire finishes, then shakes his head. "But Crowley didn't quite see it like that."**

"**No," agrees Sam, quietly. **

**Lucas glances at the younger werewolf, one shaggy eyebrow raised.**

"**Then why?" he asks Sam. "What was with all the shenanigans?"**

"**He wanted the whole of the Canadian pack turned into a Type One nation so he could unleash it on the world," Sam explains, while idly stroking the once again wolfed out Logan. He smiles when the pup grumbles approvingly and rubs his little furry head against Sam's shoulder, then carries on talking. "He saw Type Two's compassion and conscience as weaknesses rather than strengths, and our protection of humans was abhorrent to him." **

"**No doubt Bela was either also a Type One or in transition," says Dean with a heavy sigh. "Such a waste."**

**Sam smirks. "Dude, she'd have ripped your balls off and eaten them for supper."**

"**Yeah… what a way to go, huh?" Dean replies, dreamily. "Those legs… that _ass…"_**

"**Dean." Tobius clears his throat and nods towards an amused looking Josey, whose daughter is watching Dean with her bear-head tilted adorably to one side, ears and nose twitching. "There _are_ ladies present."**

"**Uh…" Dean swallows and blushes a little. "Sorry. Day dreaming again."**

"**And besides," Tobius shoots Dean a warning glare. "Crowley would have killed you both outright, regardless of who you are."**

**Silence reigns while all present considered that.**

"**Tobius, I mean no disrespect," says Bobby Singer, suddenly. "I know he's ya brother and all, but the guy's an asshole."**

**Tobius suprises everyone by bursting into laughter. "I couldn't agree more, old chap."**

"**But I thought you said Type Ones interfered with Type Two thought projections," says Gerald, looking confused.**

"**They also _smell_ differently to Type Two," Tobius replies, nodding in agreement. "Unfortunately for us, Crowley had done quite a bit more experimentation with Sleepworm than we realised."**

_**Then…**_

Well over twenty-four hours later, we still hadn't caught up with Crowley and we were miles away from pack grounds.

_Any sign of him?_

_Nah, nothing yet. _I growled angrily. _But he's here somewhere, I know he is! _

Sam leapt over a fallen tree with the grace of a springbok, let out a snarl and gathered speed, paws kicking up leaves and dirt.

Tossing his mane from side to side, he sniffed the air and growled.

_Yeah, he's let his guard down. I can feel him for the first time. It's weird. Like a psychic vapour trail just for me, the kind that hangs around even when the plane is miles away, _he replied, snorting and sniffing the air again. _And his scent is strong. _

He was right. Crowley was in such a hurry he hadn't even taken the time to cover his escape. I guess he knew who was on his scrawny tail already.

As for his _true _scent, like when we first met him, I suspected some kind of glamour or illusion spell had been employed to cover it up, giving him the smell of a Type Two non-lunar, but I couldn't be sure and that wasn't the only question I had for the bastard. When we caught up with him Crowley was going to spill the truth, or I'd spill his guts.

Even with our excellent eye sight, the dark night combined with the gloomy, snow laden forest canopy made it challenging to see the way ahead. Our journey, though quiet to the human ear, was disturbed a couple deer and a small family of rabbits. White bobtails flashed through the shrubs and undergrowth as the forest folk made their panicked escaped.

I almost laughed. Just for once, they had nothing to fear from us.

Our prey was of a _very_ different nature.

_Dean, stop!_ Sam skidded to a halt behind me.

_What is it? _I followed suit, turned and trotted back to him.

Sam was watching the darkness stretching away in front of us, eyes glowing beautifully with that deep, blue-green light, something I had missed while he was under the influence of Sleepworm.

_I-I don't know. Something… _He shook his head in frustration. _I think I just had some kind of vision, but I can't remember what it was._

I stared at him. _How can you not remember? You just _had _it._

He hung his head. _Maybe I'm still getting my groove back after that crazy drug of Crowley's._

No. There was something wrong here.

_Sam? _I asked gently. _Can you sense Crowley anywhere near here, right this minute?_

Sam looked up at me. _No! It's like he's disappeared. _He huffed, anxiously. _So why can I still smell him?_

An idea was forming, but Sam beat me to it.

_We knew from our encounter with Archimedes all those years ago that Type Ones can interfere with thought projection, with only a limited amount of control over it, but Crowley's found a way to control that __**completely**__, right? _he said, ears twitching as he thought it through. _So he could listen in our conversations? _

I shifted from paw to paw, excitedly. Yeah, Sammy was getting to the point faster than I could.

_So, _he continued, dipping his head and snuffling at my ear. _Surely it's no stretch that he could adapt that technique to interfere with my visions. What's the betting he used Sleepworm to do it? He's used it for practically everything else._

_After all, _he added, thoughtfully. _It's not exactly a secret among the Home and Canadian packs that I'm…_ _**different**_.

Exactly. Practically the whole _Were_ world knew by now about Sam's special talents. Once he kidnapped Sam off the road and right under our noses, Crowley probably spent some valuable time figuring out how to deal with him.

_Question is,_ I said, worriedly. _Can he also block your TK?_

Sam looked distinctly uncomfortable at that. _We have to assume so._

_Can you remember **anything** from just now? The vision, I mean._

Sam sighed. _No. Sorry, Dean._

_Not your fault, dude. We'll just have to proceed with caution. _I bumped shoulders with the kid, trying to cheer him up. _C'mon. We got us a mangy dog to catch!_

Sam chuckled nervously.

We were just about to move off when I felt something whistle overhead, so close it practically gave my fur a centre parting. It was followed by a _thud_ and a _twang_ as something buried itself in a nearby tree. Instantly, the air stank of silver.

_Shit! What in hell?_

_Dean, move!_ Sam instantly manoeuvred himself between me and the source of trouble, but he didn't give me time to protest, just growled and pushed me forward.

Breaking into a full gallop, we soldiered on, racing into the darkness, just as our hidden assassin let loose another arrow.

_Thudtwang thudtwang thudtwang...!_

Did I say arrow?

I'm sorry.

I meant a fucking _volley_ of arrows, following right along our flight path.

_Go go go! _Sam yelled.

We increased speed but the bowman was hot on our heels.

Sam slammed into me from the side and I heard another _thudtwang_ as a single arrow bounced harmlessly off a large conifer.

_Jesus! This guy's fast! _Sam panted, as we dodge around a few boulders and small rocks. A distant clatter of arrows hitting stone told us the bowman was still with us. _Werewolf?_

_Yep,_ I answered. _Crowley to be more specific._

Enough of this ridiculous small talk. I had a more important question.

_Sammy, what the hell do you think you're doing? _I asked as we galloped our way through the trees.

_Huh?_

_What's with all the pushing and shoving? It's **my **job to protect **you**, not the other way around._

Sam huffed, impatiently. _You really want to do this now? Ok, fine. Tobius isn't here, that makes you Alpha, and __**that **__makes me your Beta and bodyguard. Like it or lump it, bucko._

I blinked. _You've been watching English soap operas again, huh?_

_What? _Blue-greens glowed at me as we pounded the forest floor with our paws.

_Like it or lump it?_ I snorted. _Not even Sire says shit like that._

_Shuddup Dean and move!_

_Bossy little shit!_

_If it keeps you alive, damn straight!_

Deeper in the trees to our right, something ran passed us at lightning speed. We couldn't make out who or what it was, just listened to the light patter of paws. A few seconds later we heard another volley of arrows sent whistling towards us, but this time they struck the ground _in front_. We skidded to another halt, panting, heads swivelling around, desperate to find a way out.

We couldn't see him, but his scent was strong. Maybe that was intentional.

Maybe this was Crowley's trap, and we'd skidded headlong into it.

_Crowley?_ I called out. It was time for the showdown.

"Well, well, well. Aren't you two just the clever little puppy dogs?" Crowley answered, almost immediately. "And Sam… how sweet, wanting to protect your precious _fatherbrother_ from little ol'me."

No doubt the sonofabitch had been listening in and laughing at us all along.

"I'm amazed it took you so long to figure out what I am, lads," the smug bastard continued gloating. "After all, I left you enough clues. And you were right about the Sleepworm, by the way. Once I figured out how to use it with a rage ritual, it opened up a whole new world for me. So I… _explored _it."

A twig snapped to our right, but Crowley's voice was coming from everywhere.

He didn't leave us hanging for long, just stepped out from behind a tree to our left. His lower legs were wolfed out, but his upper body was all human. A quiver of arrows was strung across his back, each with lethal looking silver arrowheads.

He was grinning, holding a magnificent longbow, one arrow nocked and at the ready.

_Fuck you, Crowley! _I growled and pawed at the earth, barely resisting the urge to charge. _Just go ahead, if you think you take us. But we won't go down without a fight._

_Easy, Dean, _Sam whispered.

I looked at him. The kid was glancing all around us, watching the shadows.

_What is it, Sam?_

_I…_

"Do you know, in the year 1415 at the Battle of Agincourt, I managed to fire off two hundred arrows a minute?" Crowley shrugged casually, but there was no mistaking the puffed up arrogance and pride. "Of course you don't know. It didn't exactly make the history books because _Weres _weren't allowed in the club back then. We had to take on the French _in cognito, _as it were. But my point is, if I wanted you dead, you'd already be decomposing corpses. No, mate. I've got bigger and better plans for you."

His eyes glowed cherry red and he let out a sudden, hair-raising battle howl.

With a quiet rustle of leaves, we found ourselves surrounded by around thirty non-lunars armed with longbows.

And they were all Type Ones.

_Holy crap,_ I muttered.

_Sweet Jesus,_ Sam gasped at the same time.

It didn't occur to me to be surprised at their generosity of allowing us to thought project.

"We're growing in numbers every day," said Crowley, quietly watching our reaction with some amusement. "The Type One is no longer teetering on the brink of extinction. We can once again be all powerful and strong, like we were before the days of simpering humans. The world can be _ours_ again, as it should always have been. So what do you say, my precious nephew?" lowering the longbow, he held out a hand to me, red glowing eyes filled with genuine earnest and invitation. "Join us. Leave your little, so called _son_ to me; I'll deal with him for you. Let us storm the Canadian Pack grounds and wrench the Alpha seat from the hands of that idiot Marcus and his anal retentive siblings. Become a Type One, and we can rule it together, as _true_ family."

The Type One army stood in silence, longbows nocked with arrows, ready to fire.

Sam turned his head to glance at me just for a second, then changed instantly into his human form. His tall figure stood proudly, head up, staring at his great uncle with narrowed eyes.

_Sammy?_

But he wasn't listening.

"Tell me something," he asked, face expressionless.

Crowley bowed his head briefly, silently granting his permission.

"When did you decide to turn against your loved ones?" Sam's voice turned bitter and angry. "What made you betray everything that your pack stood for to become a Type One? Revenge? Did someone wrong you in some way? Shit in your cereal perhaps?"

While I spluttered with the effort of trying not to laugh, Crowley merely smiled.

It wasn't a nice smile.

"For a start, I'm a Type One now. Therefore, they are no longer my true _pack _or my _loved ones._ Haven't been for some months. As for revenge? I assure you, my reasons were far simpler than that," he answered on a flourishing bow. "And the word we're looking for here, people, is _power._"

It was my turn to change.

"Power?" I scoffed, loudly. "And you think consorting with demons is going to help you get that? Jesus! Are you really that stupid? You know they always want something in return, right?"

"Or course they do," said Crowley, and his gaze grew brighter as it swung back to Sam. "Only, it's not some_thing_, as such. More a some_one…"_

This was it. If we were going to make our move, it had to be now.

Sam caught my eye and I nodded.

In a flash we were back to wolf form and running at the Type One non lunars.

It was a long shot, but it worked. Instead of predictably leaping over the top and risking a silver arrow to the heart, we barrelled into their legs, snapping and biting any limbs in our way. A surprised Crowley was barking out orders, but he didn't dare fire for fear of hitting one of his precious pack.

As soon as we were clear, we didn't stop, just carried on galloping through the trees. When the expected volley of arrows rained down we began dodging and zigzagging back and forth.

Neither of us had any clue what direction we were going in and sure as hell didn't care. The only direction we were concerned with was as far away from Crowley and his army as we could possibly get. It wouldn't be long before they abandoned their longbows and came at us like a pack of, well, _wild dogs_.

We were in luck. Beneath our paws we could make out a low thundering rumble.

_I smell water about a mile up ahead,_ said Sam, excitedly. _Swim for it?_

_That'll work, _I answered, gleefully.

We shot off towards our impromptu escape route. Above the growing noise of pounding water, we could just make out the baying of Crowley's wolves. Crowley himself would be in the lead, being the fastest wolf...

I glanced over my shoulder and right into the incensed red gaze of my former uncle. It shocked the hell out of me that he'd managed to get so damned close without us having realised it. Kicking back with my powerful rear legs, I caught him across the muzzle, leaving a bright red gash with my claws.

Crowley howled in pain, and I took advantage of his distraction to get in another kick, this time to the side of his head. It sent him careening into a large fir tree, where he fell to the ground, crumpled and still.

We didn't have much time. Crowley wouldn't be out for long and then he'd be coming at us, faster, harder, and angrier.

_Nearly there, Dean, _Sam urged.

We sped onwards, burst out from the tree line and, without stopping or pausing for breath, raced straight over the edge of a cliff.

It was significantly higher and steeper than I'd imagined and the waterfall was a scary, tumbling mass of water. Tons and tons of freezing cold mountain water falling, seemingly, forever downwards.

_Oh shiiiiit! _I heard Sam scream. _This was my fucking vision..._

It was instinct, flinging my paws up over my snout, and scrunching my eyes shut; the wolf equivalent of hiding under the blankets when a scary monster climbs out from under the bed.

I must've looked like Scooby Doo.

And like the blankets, it did absolutely no fucking good whatsoever.

Just before I shit myself, I plunged into the raging rapids, and the last thing I remember were the dark waters closing over my head.

It was the feeling of coughing my lungs up through my gullet that brought me round again.

"Ugh… Gah… Pah!" I choked and spat out a gallon of murky river water and rolled onto my side.

It was a risky experiment but I kind of had no choice. It was time to open my eyes, and I wasn't looking forward to what I might find. My grit caked lids cracked to half mast, but it wasn't exactly helpful. All I could see was mud.

It was possible to tell that I'd changed to human form at some point, because my toes were bare and cold, and _other _parts were in danger of shrivelling right the hell up!

Rolling again until my upper body was supported on shaky elbows, I opened my eyes all the way.

Then, I shot upwards in a panic and broke into a run.

I'd been swept along the river for some miles, by the looks of things. At a guess? Around twenty, give or take.

Although I could just about see the top of the tall waterfall in the distance, our very own _jump zone, _now partially shrouded in early morning mist, I didn't recognize my surroundings.

But that didn't matter right then, because across the fast flowing river on the other bank, Sam was caught up in the branches of a gnarled old fallen tree, face submerged in the water, his head bobbing up and down in the eddies and currents.

_Sammy? You ok?_

No answer. And somehow I had to cross the river to check on him, preferably without getting swept away again. It was a miracle we hadn't been further separated by the initial jump, let alone by the river itself. At least Sam was in sight, if not in touch.

_Sam! C'mon, wake up!_

The kid didn't move and, gradually, the scent of his blood reached me across the water. Thankfully, I couldn't smell silver so I knew he hadn't been hit by an arrow. Any injuries would be superficial, but they could be painful and incapacitating for a while.

I just had to hope that Crowley was out cold for a little longer, because Sammy was in need of some downtime.

Scanning my side of the river, I found nothing of use. The river was much wider here than it had been at the jump zone, so Sam was around a half mile away.

_Dammit, kid, wake up!_

There was nothing for it. It was time for another swim.

Bracing myself for the icy waters, I splashed my way upstream through the shallows. If I calculated it just right, the river would carry me to Sam. So I stood knee deep, watching, and judging.

In the end, I just shrugged.

"What the hell."

And plunged in.

"Fuck me fuck me fuck me it's coooold!" I all but screamed, part of me perhaps hoping it would wake Sam up; kid wouldn't want to miss this prize blackmail material for the world. But no. He just lay there, imprisoned helplessly by the old tree, hair fanned out around his head like seaweed in the water.

I was starting to worry. Irrational, I know, because there was no silver involved and therefore Sam couldn't be dead. But hey, he's my son and brother, and he was obviously injured in some way. How would you expect me to feel?

Though the current tried to sweep me away it wasn't as strong as I expected, and werewolf strength lent me an advantage most humans would kill for. Now able to face the river fully aware and fully conscious, I struck out, front crawling across and only allowing the current the smallest leeway, the tiniest pull, in order to get me closer to Sam.

I felt a sense of smug satisfaction when I moved closer and faster to the tree than expected. My hand came up and slapped against the trunk, halting my perilous journey. With a huff and a grunt, I managed to pull myself up, hoping like hell the damn branch wouldn't break and plunge the both of us back in the water, and used a hand over hand technique to pull myself along. It creaked and groaned a time or two, and I stopped, holding my breath, waiting for the inevitable sound of a cracking tree limb and fully expecting to find myself plunged back into the icy flow once again.

But it never came.

Feeling my spirits lift at this unlikely streak of good luck, I carried on moving until I was right next to the kid. The branches had actually rescued him from being pulled further away down river. Further away from _me. _God knew how long it might have taken me to find him if that had happened. Even with an enhanced sense of smell, hearing and sight, it would've been possible but troublesome.

"Alright, Sam," I advised him as I hooked an arm under his chest. "I'm gonna pull you free, ok? After three. One… two…"

I tugged, hard, and the branches keeping him captive, snapped. Rolling him over onto his back in the water, I peered at his face.

Blood was pumping from a large gash on the side of his head, just under the hairline, turning the water a muddy shade of pink. A flap of skin lifted up to reveal a nasty compound fracture to his skull.

I winced.

"You're gonna have one hell of a headache, kiddo" I said to him, gently pulling him up against my chest. "But you'll live."

The nearest bank wasn't far off. All it would take was a few strong strokes and we'd be high if not-so-dry.

But then…

_REEEOOOWWWLLLLL!_

Shit. Crowley. From the distant sound of his hunting call he was still back at the jump zone, trying to track us, but it's hard to hunt by smell alone when your prey has gone for a paddle down river.

I knew it wouldn't be long before he and his Type One army began scouring the banks and shoreline for us, and given that one of us was injured we'd have trouble outrunning them.

I hung my head. Already I was getting sick to death of this fucking river, but the damnation of the thing was that it had the power to save our lives for a second time.

I glanced at the tree. Not being overly thrilled at the idea of getting separated from Sam again, I sighed heavily, and pushed the kid up over the main trunk. Holding him in place with a hand to his back, my feet kicked out, and I began rocking the tree violently to and fro.

With one final creak and a loud groan, the tree tore free of the bank; great clods of earth dislodged and tumbled down into the water. It left a clearly visible crater, obviously recent, but that was irrelevant now. After all, Crowley wasn't stupid; he'd know we survived so he was heading downriver towards us anyhow.

Swept away by the river to an unknown destination, unconscious little _brotherson _draped more or less safely over the old tree, I had time to reflect on things.

It wasn't everyday we found ourselves floating downriver in the Canadian wilds, butt naked and freezing our balls off, with an army of psychotic non-lunars out for our blood. Hopefully, Sire, Marcus and Castiel would find out that things hadn't gone according to plan, and come after us…

I straightened up in the water when a sudden thought hit me.

No, they couldn't afford to leave the pack grounds so defenceless. They needed every wolf capable of fighting close to hand. And Sammy and I needed to get word to them somehow, try to warn them of what was coming.

I began frantically kicking with my feet, no longer such a passive river passenger. This time I was assisting with the journey, though I had no clue where we'd end up.

_**TBC...**_

_**Will Crowley catch up with Sam and Dean? Or will the boys manage to evade him?**_

_**What challenges await our beloved boys out in the wilds of Canada?**_

_**You know the rules: you wanna find out, then you gotta leave a review!**_

_**Oh yeah, and check out my profile for some links to an artist mate of mine, Anita, who has also taken charge of the beta reading from chapter 18 onwards. She's come up with some pretty damn fine general Supernatural artwork if you fancy a look, and also some NCIS and other great stuff.**_

_**Cheers for all your support guys.**_

_**Love ST. xxx**_


	15. Chapter 15

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 15**

_**Now…**_

"**When Crowley set up the fight arenas, he got himself tangled up in some damn dark, powerful stuff," Bobby informs them, his voice gruff and thick. "Black Plantain has a lot of significant uses in black magic, and the occult signatures it left behind would have been a beacon to any hell spawn looking for it," he raises an eyebrow at the boys. "While humans and _Weres_ alike went about their business, completely oblivious to what was going on, every demon on this continent would have sat up and paid attention."**

"**Yeah," says Dean, voice low and menacing. "But only _one_ demon acted on it."**

"**Because he warned the others off, and he had the backing of Hell itself," Sam adds, quietly. "In John's mind, we were his alone, and no one was going to come between him and his… _sons_…"**

_**Then…**_

I was dying to change. The water was freezing, the result of melted snow straight off the mountain peaks, and a heavy waterproof fur coat would have been a godsend. But there was no way I'd have been able to hold on to the tree, try to navigate with my feet _and _ensure Sam stayed safely onboard.

I gazed at his bloodstained head. The wound still looked horrendous but, being a non-silver related injury; it was starting to show the faintest signs of healing already. I would've sighed with relief but I didn't want to jinx us.

As before when Sire and I had started out after Sam, when he was kidnapped by Crowley, the snow was mostly limited to the tree tops, sheltering the ground and keeping it free of ice. However, the river banks were lined with snow and icy mud wherever the tree line didn't quite reach, and though I wasn't looking forward to stepping on that shit in my bare feet, I would've taken that any day over this damn freezing cold river.

We couldn't die of the cold, but in that water right then? I sure wanted to.

Sam wasn't fairing any better. His skin was covered in goose bumps and his lips were blue.

But what was so much worse? I was bored out of my fucking skull!

Sam was still out for the count and there was no one to talk to, apart from an occasional rabbit or squirrel staring at me from the river bank. They must have guessed how hungry I was because I could swear the little bastards were taunting me. Their twitchy noses seem to say "Hi Dean. Bet you wanna eat us, huh? Na-na-nana-na! Biteme, biteme, biteme, water bitch!"

"Furry fuckers!" I hissed at them, for all the good it would do me.

They just sit there, watching me helplessly drift by and swearing loudly. To this day, I'm sure they were laughing at me.

"C'mon Sammy, wake up dude," I begged, then nearly swallowed half a gallon of river as a small patch of white water swept over the tree trunk.

"_Sonofabitch!_" I gasped, spluttered and spat in disgust.

But then came my reward. With a soft groan, chattering of teeth and fluttering of eyelashes, Sam started to regain consciousness.

"Hey, you with me, Sam?" I gently poked and prodded at the kid.

"Ow!" he moaned, softly, eyes finally opening to slits. He winced and shivered, fingers clutching at our makeshift raft and morphing into claws, instinct telling him to change and get out of the damn cold.

"Sam, no!" I barked out, making him flinch in pain, and his eyes snapped open all the way. "Sorry, kid, but no changing, ok? We can't do that right now."

Though, frankly, I was kind of surprised his body had taken so long to give way to it. Maybe a fractured skull slowed those animal urges right down, what with his noggin trying to heal and all.

"Huh?" he murmured, then groaned loudly. His body slumped downwards, nearly pitching him into the water again with the movement.

I grabbed on to him one-handed and gave him a shake.

"Hey! Cut that out and wake the hell up!" I snapped, but he just gulped several times as though he was about to be sick, and I felt guilt zinging through my gut. My tone and volume must have hurt him.

"C'mon, kid," I said, more softly this time. "Let me know you're ok."

Pulling his chin up, I gazed into his concussion-glazed eyes and smiled when he nodded slowly.

I indicated our precarious circumstances with a nod of my head. Sam's gaze swept up and down the tree trunk, and then his eyebrows furrowed into a confused frown.

"Wha-? Ow." Sam muttered again, unhappily. "My head."

"Yeah," I winced in sympathy. "I'm guessing you smashed it open on a rock when we took a swan dive over the falls. Cracked your skull good and rattled your brain about, but it's already healing."

Sam managed a small nod, but turned a little green when the trunk rose up on a swell and slumped back down again. He swallowed carefully.

"When you say 'already', how long have we been on this thing?"

This was a tough question to be a smartass about, because I'd left my Rolex back in Sire's room, and Sam's own watch had gone missing. We couldn't know for sure, but Sire guessed it was stolen by the Type Twos when they abducted him.

It was probably half-way across the country by now, getting spray painted or stripped for parts.

"Hard to say, but…" I looked up at the sky. "It's long past lunch, I know that much."

"How can you tell?" Sam asked, miserably.

"Apart from when the sun passed over head?" I answered with a smile. "Try both our stomachs growling. And _you_ were unconscious!"

Sam shook his head slightly. "Yeah, about that…"

_I know,_ I said, sensing he was too tired for much more. _Just a little longer and we can take a break. Wolf out, warm up, I'll catch us some food. Gonna have to be raw, though, dude. Crowley's a long ways off but he's still tracking us._

_No fire,_ Sam sighed. _Gotcha._

_Hey, we'll be fine,_ I said, letting go of the tree with one hand so I could rub his shoulder. _We'll get some rest…_

_Can't afford to rest, Dean, _Sam insisted, shakily, and still looking green around the gills. _Gotta get back to Tobius and Castiel. Warn them about Crowley and his army._

I should have known the kid would take this tact, and though I'd been thinking that exact same thing not so long ago, I was ready for him.

_Nope, nuhuh, not gonna happen,_ I kicked hard with my feet and the tree trunk surged forwards a little faster with the current. _Not until your head's fully healed, alright?_

_But…_

_No buts! _It was time to exert my authority. And let's face it; the kid _had_ kind of brought this on himself. _Like you said. I'm your alpha until we get back to Sire. So that's an order, Sam, which means no arguments._

He sulked for a time, but joined in with the paddling.

I reckon we covered a fair number of miles before the sun showed the first signs of setting, its once bright rays diffusing into oranges and reds. Sam seemed to be growing much more lucid, words not so slurred, and the deep gash on his head had partially sealed shut. It would remain red, bruised and swollen for a while longer, but even that would eventually fade with time.

But the cold was weighing on us. We needed to head for the shore, change and find somewhere safe to sleep for a few hours before the sun went down completely. Then we had to make a decision: how to get back to Tobius without running into Crowley. I sensed another one of our epic journeys ahead of us, because our trek back wasn't going to be nearly as swift as the journey away down river.

_Dean look,_ Sam pointed ahead suddenly, as we rounded a bend in the river. _We're real close to the bank here. How about it?_

It was a natural cove, tiny and sheltered by some close standing pines and their thick canopy. The best part was the evidence of a few healthy rabbit warrens.

My mouth watered. Yeah, Bugs Bunny and his family was gonna get it tonight!

It did seem like a convenient place to ditch the white water rafting trip, and just in time. Sam's gut was groaning vacantly again, and my balls were about to drop off.

_All ashore, Sammy! _

I waited until Sam had untangled himself from the branches, then we pushed off together, letting the tree float away, finally free of its heavy burden. We were changing in the water, and paddling along at the same time. Just as the cove came alongside us, we clambered up the bank, shook out our shaggy fur and began loping around joyously, albeit Sam was still a little slow and woozy. But already we were warming up and it felt damn good.

_Ok, food! Now! _I growled, and began frantically sniffing the ground. _You rest up and…_

Sam snorted indignantly. _I'm not waiting for you to get lucky, Dean. I'm __**hungry!**_

_Cheeky bastard,_ I grunted and butted his shoulder gently with my snout, but let him join in the hunt.

_I could eat at least three rabbits,_ he complained with a soft whine some time later.

_Huh, I could manage four easy!_ As acting Alpha I had to one-up him, never mind how childish it was.

_And some roast potatoes,_ Sam added, obviously trying to torture me, the little shit! _And thick, meaty gravy. Maybe some of those Yorkshire puddings Tobius likes to make on Sundays. Or Irish stew with dumplings…_

I'd had enough.

_Sam! Cut it out!_ I barked at him, sharply. _You're hungry; I get it, so am I! Now shut the hell up before I drown you in my own drool!_

Sam actually sniggered. _Sorry, dude._

_Right…_ I grumbled with mock petulance, and we continued with our hunt for food.

Our patience prevailed. Sometime later, I'd caught five rabbits, all plump and juicy, and Sammy had found some wild nuts and berries. But it wouldn't satisfy us for long. We'd not eaten in a couple of days, and with all the energy expenditure of late our metabolism would punish us cruelly if we didn't make up the deficit and soon.

Sam took a nose dive back into the river, disappearing beneath the surface, while I scouted out a decent place to curl up and sleep.

I found an ideal spot around a mile up on one of the mountains. Well below its snowy peak, a small copse, hemmed in by thick pines with low hanging branches, made a cosy little den; it could have been created just for us. There was a rocky outcrop just above it that made for a great observation post, because it looked out over the river and surrounding forests. A good commander could hold an effective ambush in a place like that.

Which was just what we had in mind, except we had no intention of being around to see it.

When I made it back to the river, Sammy had quite a pile of fish. Mainly trout, with a few others I didn't know the names of mixed in for good measure. We were in for a real feast that night.

Helping him carry the load, I showed him the trail I'd deliberately made to and from our new base, pointed out certain aspects of the trail, the odd usefully placed tree or rock. Sam nodded along, thoughtfully, and by the time we got up the mountain, we'd hashed out a plan.

We didn't worry too much about cleaning up after dinner. There wasn't a lot left to worry _about_ anyhow. We were so damn hungry that we licked the rabbit bones clean, then chewed the marrow out. Connective tissue, kidneys, liver, heart, even the brains and eyeballs were enthusiastically consumed. The only bits left were the skins.

As for the fish, they were devoured pretty much in one swallow.

_That is sooo much better, _Sam rumbled contentedly, rolling on his back and stretching oversized paws out and up. His rear legs scissored wildly for a few seconds, tail thumping the forest floor, and he heaved out a great sigh of relief.

I grinned over at him. _Yep, if not for the deadly pursuit of a Type One army, we could almost be on vacation, huh?_

_Speaking of,_ Sam flipped over and studied me with big bright eyes. _We still haven't __**had**__ a vacation yet. Where you wanna go when this is all over? We keep talking about it but we never seem to get the chance. There's always something getting in the way._

Kid was right. If it wasn't human hunters, vampires, and demons out to get us, it was ghost possessed Wiccans, and kids with special abilities trying to gouge our innards out.

_Hmm. I suppose Hawaii's out of the question? _I asked, mischievously.

_Have you gotten over your fear of flying? _Sam snorted back.

_No._

_Then there's your answer._

_Good point._

It was time to get back to work.

The next stage was to set up a few traps around the perimeter of the area. And these consisted of deep pits dug and fitted with spikes we'd fashioned from torn off branches, whittled into points with our teeth, and covered by more branches and general forest detritus.

As a finishing touch, Sam climbed up a tree and gave one of its branches a gentle shake, allowing a light dusting of snow to fall on the covered pit.

Simple but effective. We hoped.

Sleep came easy after that. With the sounds of the night, a hooting owl, perhaps on the hunt for its own food, and the rustle of something frantically mating in the undergrowth, we slipped into a restful slumber with one ear open for trouble.

Only a couple of hours, that was all we needed, and woke up well before midnight to a crescent moon lighting up the sky. We climbed to the observation post and looked out across the landscape, watching for signs that our pursuers were on their way.

Nothing so far, and I hoped that they'd come across this place in darkness, all the better to fall for our ruse, not to mention the traps.

Sam watched the land, head tilted to one side.

_Looks so peaceful and quiet, huh? Like nothing out there could harm us._

_Yeah,_ I offered, quietly. _Like the best of illusions._

We had no doubt, even as we stood there, that a hidden army was crawling through the trees and along the river banks, searching for us. It sent a cold tingle down my spine.

We had a good lead on Crowley, who would be blindly following the river. He'd find our temporary bolthole, there was no avoiding that issue, but we could try to put him off the scent for a while, just to buy us more time.

It was gross, as plans went, but we hunted high and low. Sadly, we did eventually find what we were looking for, just not what we'd imagined.

An elderly, lone, grey wolf signed his own death warrant when he made the mistake of crossing our paths. It hadn't been our intention. Just some deer blood, maybe an elderly stag for preference to make it look like a real skirmish had taken place.

I guess, in the end, this was the most believable.

He attacked us first, but I'm still not proud of what we did. He was just defending his territory, his hunting grounds. Once we had him pinned, the old wolf just blinked slowly, _proudly,_ as though resigned to his fate, stopped fighting us and gave in.

I dragged him nearer to our base camp, offered him a silent apology, and made it as painless and swift as possible under the circumstances.

_Dean…_Sam bit back a sob, while we used our paws to smear the earth with the poor old wolf's blood.

_I know, Sam. I'm sorry. I really am, and if there had been another way…_I shook my head, sadly. _But there's just too damn much riding on us getting back. Too many lives at stake._

I felt bowled over by it, the sheer weight of taking an innocent's life just to save our own.

It was big picture time, and that old wolf deserved our respect.

We left him where he lay, couldn't afford to do anything else. It had to look like we got caught up in a fight. But we would be back once this whole thing was over. The grey wolf would be properly put to rest on his own turf.

It was no comfort at all, knowing that had we let him go the chances were he would have fallen foul of Crowley's army, and his end probably wouldn't have been anywhere near as quick or humane.

We rolled over and over in the blood and dirt getting it stuck on our fur and paws, until it had infected almost every part of our bodies. We would never be able to forget this, and not just because of the stench. Our physical disgust couldn't even match our inner turmoil. We avoided each other's gaze for a while after and didn't speak, while we prepared for the next stage of our daring escapade.

We ran back to the river, making sure to leave just enough of a blood trail to enable Crowley to track us, but not too much to cause any suspicion.

We jumped in the river with a small splash and swam around for a bit, gently nipping at each other's ears and tails, all those hard to reach places. After a thorough soaking, and the last of the grey wolf's blood had washed away, we crawled out of the river at the same place we entered, and carefully followed the edges of the false trail all the way back to the body. We leapt from ground to rock to tree, and changed from form to form and back again when necessary, keeping as close to the trail of blood as possible without actually touching it.

Our stench, a mix of rabbit, fish and blood of the dead wolf would be all over the place, confusing anyone tracking us into heading along the river again, with any luck. It wouldn't fool them forever but maybe for long enough, if we moved quickly.

We stood there for two minutes silence over the dead wolf, heads bowed respectfully.

Then, without a word, we bounded silently away in the opposite direction of the river, leaving no visible trace of us behind, and climbed further up the mountain.

Maybe we would run out of luck. Maybe when Crowley saw the body, he'd know what we'd done. After all, he was ancient, had seen every trick in the book and probably even invented a few of them himself.

Maybe he wouldn't fall for it. Maybe he'd find our _clean_ scent out of all that mess.

That was a lot of maybes, and we had to hope _no_ to all of them. But at the very least if it slowed him down, that might prove enough.

It was just a great shame the old wolf had paid the ultimate price for keeping the pack, and in turn, the _world_ safe from the growing number of Type Ones.

Doesn't seem fair, huh?

We ran long into the night, only stopping to sniff the air, check for trouble and alter our course when needed. There was still no scent of Crowley, and Sam wasn't getting any psychic twinges, but by that point Crowley might well have recloaked. He could have been right up close and we wouldn't have known until it was too late.

Marvellous.

Our journey was based mostly on guesswork and we only had our sense of direction to go on. Most of the time we ran in tandem, Sam in front at his insistence, but sometimes we were able to run side by side.

I couldn't get my mind off that grey wolf. I'd _murdered_ the poor bastard, never mind that it was all for a good cause. As Sire once told us, the crusaders used that excuse too many times, and look how much blood was spilt because of it?

All in the name of God.

If I were still human I'd be embarrassed for my kind.

But right then, as a Type Two werewolf, hunter of lunar and non-lunar strays, I was more than just ashamed. I felt remorse like nothing else I'd ever experienced before on a hunt.

_Dean?_

_Uhuh?_

_What happened back there…_

_Sam, don't._

_No, we need to talk about it, _Sam pressed again, a little more forcefully.

_This ain't the time._

_It's the _perfect _time!_

_We're supposed to be on our guard, not holding a heart to heart!_

Sam skidded to a halt and I nearly ran into him.

_Sam, what the fuck?_

Blue-green glowing eyes regarded me with concern and sympathy, and I wanted to cringe.

Sam padded forward and nuzzled into my ear.

_We have to get this out, and let it go, ok? We can't objectively face what's ahead of us with this kind of crap on our shoulders._

He licked my chin and blew gently into my snout.

_It's ok. I mean, it isn't but… there wasn't much choice…_

I snorted and backed off. _There's __**always **__a choice!_

_Not in this case, _he whimpered and padded forward again, regaining the ground I'd given, but this time ducked his head under mine and gently pushed upwards. _It was his time, Dean. I saw it in his eyes and he knew it. He'd lived a long life and tonight he was ready to go. You gave him an honourable death. You let him go down fighting like the proud warrior he was. No wolf could ask for more, __**Were**__ or not._

Sam whined softly and pressed closer to me.

If he noticed I was shaking with grief, if he felt the wetness of my tears on his fur, he kindly said nothing.

And weirdly enough, Sam was right. The guilt wasn't gone, the burden of an innocent death could never be erased, but somehow it became a little easier to bear. There was no way I could have faced what was coming for us with my conscience loaded down like that.

Looking back, knowing what we know now, it might have been the final straw that broke us. Instead, we became closer than ever before.

_C'mon, _I gave him a gentle push. _Let's keep going, huh?_

He stepped back and eyed me, sadly, for a second.

_Yeah, ok._

But just as we moved off I had something to add.

_Sammy?_

_Yeah?_

_Thanks, dude._

He looked back at me. _You've done the same for me countless times. We can't change the past. It's what we do with the future that matters now._

I snorted softly and bumped against him.

_Smartass._

Sam just grinned back, long tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

After around an hour of running up the mountain, we began to emerge from the trees, where biology gave into the elements and rock took over, and we encountered deep snow. Last thing we needed was to make our trail easier to follow so we skirted around the edge, just below the snowline, until we came to the other side, and hit a hiking trail stretching away along the mountain pass to the next peak.

But on our side it was almost a cliff face, with a big, snowy drop.

_Dammit._

_Yeah, _Sam echoed my thoughts and stared down the long, steep rocky slope to the bottom of the mountain. It was our only option.

Humans were in enough shit as it was without bringing Crowley right to them.

So instead of taking the easy mountain trail, we jumped.

The two of us hit the slope curled into big, furry balls, tails wrapped tightly around our bodies, heads tucked in. Underneath the snow there were big, hard, sharp rocks and boulders, there was no getting away from that, but we made it to bottom in no time at all.

I felt like Wile Coyote after an anvil had dropped on his head.

_Oh, man! _Sam whined softly. _That hurt._

_Yup,_ I groaned and we both rolled on our backs, legs all starfished out.

_Shit! _Said Sam. _Remind me never to do that again._

_Sam?_

_Yeah!_

_Never jump off a mountain._

_Dean?_

_Yeah!_

_Perhaps we should've learned that lesson when we plummeted over the fucking waterfall!_

I huffed my displeasure out though my snout.

_Shutup Sam!_

_Sam and Dean? _A husky voice, heavy with a Scottish accent called out to us. _Is that you?_

We looked at each other in surprise.

_Lucas?_

We sprang to our paws, ignoring the twinges and aches as our bodies protested the movement, and watched with eager relief when twenty or more wolves circled closely around us, a protective wall of non-lunars, all from the Home Pack.

_What are you doing all the way out here?_ asked Sam, excitedly, and bounced like a playful puppy towards the Alpha, whining with delight when Lucas nuzzled affectionately into his ear. _I can't believe it!_

_So it's true,_ the Alpha peered closely at the younger wolf. _You __**can **__see again! Sam, that's wonderful, youngster! _He looked up at me with an air of approval. _And I've also been hearing great things about you from Marcus, young Dean._

Either, Lucas had joined the modern age and got hold of a satellite phone, or he'd been busy learning some of Bobby Singer's craft.

I shook out my mane. _Not that I'm unhappy to see you, Lucas, but what __**are**__ you doing out here?_

Another wolf stepped forward and I recognised her as Victoria, the Home Pack's first lady, as it were, Lucas' partner in crime.

_We were on our way to join you for your Prime celebration, _she said, and bowed her head graciously. _There were too many pregnancies and pups to risk bringing the whole pack out here, so we took some of our senior members and left the others, along with the werebears, to look after the rest._

I blinked, feeling a little shy and over-awed at the immense gesture.

_That's incredible, guys. Thank you._

Lucas grinned. _You're more than welcome, laddie!_

One of the other wolves, bigger than the rest, suddenly shifted into human form, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth.

The Home Pack Beta gave a small bow of welcome.

"Good to see you Sam and Dean," he said, kindly.

Sam changed forms to match and clasped the guy into a tight hug.

"It's good to see you Cornelius," he said, softly. "You're looking well."

These two were close friends, which was quite the feat considering how they started out almost at each other's throats. They'd helped each other when the rest of us couldn't, not even Tobius. They both understood what it was like to be trapped and bound in silver, tortured by the stuff until all you wanted was death.

And they also knew what it was like to lose a valuable sense to silver. Sam was more fortunate. His sight came back, admittedly by chance and through one hell of a risky business, but Cornelius lost the ability to thought project. Which was why, when he greeted us, he shifted to human form so he could communicate.

And he sure was communicating now.

"The big question is," the Beta was asking, gaze switching from Sam to me and taking in our no doubt bedraggled appearance with raised eyebrow. "What are _you_ two doing all the way out here?"

Lucas nodded. _Last we heard, you went chasing after your Uncle Crowley a few days ago, though the whys and wherefores are a little hazy and the Canadian Pack appears to be in some turmoil. How did you get this far out?_

_Ah. _I gave one more bow of the head to Lucas and Victoria, then changed to join Cornelius and Sam.

"Listen very carefully," I said with a tired grimace. "Because the shit has well and truly hit the fan…"


	16. Chapter 16

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 16**

_**Now…**_

"**Well, Singer's communication ritual was a wee bit dodgy. It kept crapping out on us like a broken CB radio, so we only got the gist of what was going on from Marcus," says Lucas, looking perplexed. "But I was certainly knocked for six that night. I wasn't sure what it was all about, and Crowley's involvement had me rather puzzled, I'll admit."**

**He looks at Dean and Sam. "But I'm beginning to understand more and more, now, thanks to you boys."**

**Dean is still staring at the fire, and Sam gives him a nudge.**

"**You ok?"**

**Dean, startled, looks up. "Yeah. Just, uh, still coming to terms, ya know? Talking about it _is_ good, but it's a little overwhelming." **

**He shrugs.**

**Tobius morphs his nose into a snout and presses it to Dean's ear, licking gently. It's a sign of love and comfort, one that Dean can understand and doesn't shy away from.**

**The pup in his lap opens an eye, one ear flopping lazily to the side, and gazes up at Dean. With a loud puppy yawn, he places a paw on Dean's chest and growls playfully.**

"**_Reeeooowllllll!"_**

**Dean can't seem to help the smile that emerges, and Sam grins along with him.**

"**You think we're really ready for these two?" he gestures to the pup snuggled up to his own chest.**

"**Oh yeah," Dean replies, softly. "More than ready."**

"**Aw, c'mon," Andy complains, impatiently. "Get on with the rest of it, huh? I only know the parts I was there for!"**

**Josey swats him over the head. "You mind your manners, cub," she warns, gently, and shoots Gerald a glare when he sniggers quietly.**

**Andy grins, rubbing his head. "Sorry, Mom."**

**Sam scratches his pup behind the ear. "But he's right. Moving swiftly on…"**

_**Then…**_

A little later, seated in a circle with Lucas and Victoria, also now in human form, the Home Pack were stunned. We hadn't gone into huge amounts of detail, just that the Canadian Pack was in danger from Crowley, who was now a Type One.

Proper explanations would be left for a later date, when the heat was off, and everyone was safe and secure. Assuming we all lived through it.

"Shit!" Cornelius finally breathed out. "You guys have really been busy."

"And you say that Tobius and Castiel have no knowledge that these Type Ones are going to attack the Canadian Pack?" asked Lucas, anxiously.

I shook my head. "Nope. At the moment, I'm convinced that Crowley won't order the attack until he has us" I indicated Sam and me "in his possession."

"Yeah, he wants us as a bargaining tool," said Sam. "Another ace up his sleeve. Though, he offered to turn Dean into a Type One."

Lucas blew out a breath and scratched at his long beard. "And Marcus wonders why Tobius and I steer clear of large pack politics!" he snorted. "Ha! This is why!"

"Can we use Bobby's mojo to call Marcus and warn him?" I asked.

Vicky shook her head. "'Fraid not. It gave out on us completely last time we used it and we've not been able to get it working again. I think it ran its course. Those communication spells don't have a very long shelf-life."

"Not even giving it a little power would help, then," muttered Sam, dolefully.

We all fell quiet for a while, disappointed by the news.

"There's something else we should consider," Sam murmured, ominously, breaking the brooding silence and getting us back on track. "Crowley figured out how to hide his true self, to appear as one of us, a Type Two."

"And?" Lucas prompted, gently.

"That means there could already be hidden Type Ones on the inside. After all, he successfully turned some of the elder council," Sam replied. "And we have no idea how long they've been there. More likely, they could even be dormant Type Ones, just waiting for a trigger."

Shit. Even I hadn't thought of that. "Sleeper cells, that don't even know what they are..."

"You mean to tell me," Lucas concluded, slowly, anger simmering away underneath that calm exterior Alphas are so famous for. "That as we speak, there could be Type Ones amongst the pack, ready to turn on them at a moments notice?"

Sam and I nodded, but said nothing.

"Right! That settles it!" the gruff Alpha got to his feet. "Cornelius! Take four wolves ahead and scout around, keep an eye on Crowley's movements. Send a runner if anything unusual or worrying occurs. When the shite starts flying, get to the rear gates of the Canadian walls and guard them with your lives. Vicky, my love, take two wolves and get back home. Move our pack as far away as you can get, go to Tobius' cabin in fact. Send someone, preferably Andy, to contact Bobby Singer and Jim Murphy. We might need some human fire power, and I know for a fact that even with a bum leg, the priest can still kick some serious arse. Once they've joined you, bring them back up here with the majority of the pack, but leave the young, and nursing mothers, at the cabin with Josey and Gerald to guard them. We'll need Andy. He's a tough bastard, when all's said and done."

Then he turned to us.

"And you two," Lucas eyed us up and down, critically. "Get something to eat and then sleep. We've a long journey in the morn, and I need you fresh as wee daisies."

I watched as Vicky made preparations for her journey. Before she changed, she turned to a young teenager and whispered something to him. I don't know what she said, but he shook his head and the two appeared to be having some kind of disagreement.

Lucas joined them, and by the looks of things, settled the dispute with the diplomacy expected of a pack Alpha. Vicky sighed, kissed her mate, tenderly hugged the youngster and ruffled his hair, then slunk away into the night with her two companions, quietly whispering _good luck _to us all.

Cornelius came over to us, grinned widely, and gave us both a farewell hug.

"Well, it was short but sweet," said Sam, a little sadly. "Maybe next time we meet up, we'll get a proper chance to talk."

Cornelius nodded. "Absolutely," he said, then added, quietly "I've missed you guys."

I respected Sam's dignity by looking away, but I still caught a glance at the moisture shinning in his eyes when Cornelius hugged him again. These two really needed a chance to catch up. They were each other's counsellors, I guess, and Sam sure had been through a lot over the last few days.

"You behave yourselves," I heard Cornelius say when they stepped apart again, and laughed when I clipped him upside the head.

"Cocky little shit!" I grumbled with feigned petulance.

"Ok, ok." Cornelius sobered and glanced at the rest of his pack, worriedly, as they went about their various preparations under the watchful eye of their Alpha. "But seriously. Look after them for me?"

"You know we will," I said, and Sam nodded his agreement.

Reassured, but still anxious for his family, the Home Pack Beta slipped away among the trees with four other strong looking non-lunars.

The air was buzzing with that nervous excitement, the kind that usually manifests right before battle, and we were all a part of it.

The scent of roast venison had our stomachs growling with anticipation. Even after all that rabbit and fish, we could have happily eaten an entire moose each.

Sam ran a hand through his hair and grimaced when it caught on a tangled knot. Silence stretched between us while he worked on pulling and picking at it, until it finally unravelled.

_He's not happy, _he said, quietly._ Leaving his Alpha behind like that, huh?_

_No, and he wouldn't be 'cos it just don't feel natural, _I replied. _But sometimes, it's necessary. I hate leaving Sire, or when he's been forced to leave us. It makes this deep, empty pit open up inside, one that can't be filled. It just feels all wrong._

_Yeah, _said Sam, nodding slowly. _I get it._

And I had no doubt that he understood. It was more than just family, stronger than any bond of friendship or love. Like it or not, he was growing naturally into his role as pack Beta, becoming what he was supposed to be all along, so the accompanying instincts and feelings were taking shape. It would hurt, eventually tear him apart and glue him back together, leaving him all the stronger for it.

But it wouldn't be long now.

This was what Tobius was waiting for, the moment when Sam and I both realised our futures in full, so he could retire from hunting and hand over the reins.

_What now?_ the kid suddenly asked, tiredly.

I shrugged and threw an arm round his shoulder. _Like the Alpha said, get something to eat, then sleep. We'll see what tomorrow brings us._

Yeah. There were going to be some drastic changes, hard decisions that would be a trial coming to terms with. But they could wait, for now.

Sammy and I had enough to deal with.

_C'mon,_ I tugged him along with me towards one of the campfires. _I see a joint of venison with our names on it._

Lucas had ordered the fires banked down a little now that he was aware of the threat of Crowley's Type Ones roaming the countryside. Red embers glowed in the night, against the silhouettes of various pack members. Possibly, viewed from the mountain above, Crowley might see the camp from a distance and wonder about it, but it was doubtful. The fires hadn't been that big to start with, and were hidden away under the forest's snow-laden canopy.

And besides, if he fell for our ruse by the river or got caught up in the pits we left around the grey wolf, then he wouldn't have followed us this far.

Yeah, we were subscribing to Team Optimism this lunar cycle.

_Hold on a second, _said Sam, stopping in his tracks suddenly. _How come we didn't catch on that the Home Pack was around? There was no scent, and we didn't even see their campfires._

_We weren't exactly looking, Sammy, _I replied, but I had to admit he had a valid point.

Lucas turned from a conversation with one of his pack and waved us over.

_I couldn't help but listen in,_ he said with no sign of remorse whatsoever. _Mr Singer gave us a few little rituals to experiment with, so I thought what a better time to try them out than when visiting the Canadian Pack? And it's a good thing I brought them along, too, with that arsehole Crowley about and all. At least, from what you said, we know they work fine._

I was puzzled. _Come again?_

Lucas chuckled. _Sam just confirmed it. The Home Pack was hidden from you. You had no idea we were there until you… er… dropped in on us._

_Bobby gave you a cloaking ritual, huh? _Sam asked.

Lucas shrugged. _Just a wee trinket or two._

That sounded great, wonderful in fact. Just one thing to consider…

_Yeah, but will it still work now that someone from the outside has joined up with you? _I raised an eyebrow. _Presumably, we ain't cloaked, right?_

Lucas frowned. _Good point._

_One that can be easily proved, _said Sam. _Wait here._

_Sammy where are you… hey! Get back here! _I called out, just as he took off, sprinted through the trees and disappeared from sight. _Dammit Sam!_

_I'm fine, Dean, just stand still and be quiet for a second._

I heard a small scuffle, then everything fell silent. Even the Home Pack stopped what they were doing and watched curiously.

_Sam? _He'd only been gone thirty seconds, but Crowley had once managed to kidnap him in less time than that. _Sammy!_

_It's ok, I'm up here. Look!_

Lucas, the pack and I all looked up. Around fifty feet up on the foothills of the mountain, Sam sat on a rock, eyes glowing blue-green in the darkness of the night.

_Can you see us, young Sam? _Lucas called up.

_Nope. Place is still cloaked. There's no fire, no smoke and no sign of anyone, _Sam called back, smugly. _It's… oh no, wait… I can see someone moving under the trees… no, they've gone now._

Lucas and I glanced around to find a young non-lunar standing right in the middle of the camp, carrying a blanket and two platters of venison. It was the teenager I'd seen Vicky hugging before she left. He was stock still and staring up at Sam, eyes wide with amazement.

_Arthur_, Lucas barked out. _Walk forward again._

Arthur nodded and obeyed instantly.

_They're back!_ Sam called out, waving his arms.

_Stop! _Lucas ordered the young wolf, who complied.

_Gone again, _said Sam.

_Backwards, s_aid Lucas, and poor Arthur took several paces back.

I saw Sam wave his arms again.

_Looks like we're all cloaked, _said Sam and I heard that small scuffle again as he descended the foothills once more. _But only when we're still. Movement gives us away._

_So we're safe while we sleep,_ Lucas concluded. _Well, it's better than nothing, I suppose._

Sam trekked back into camp and stood beside me.

_I might be able to strengthen that._

I looked at him, aghast. _Sam, Crowley's already proved he can unravel your powers. And in any case, you need to sleep. You can't rest if you're concentrating all your efforts on shielding us._

_Crowley proved nothing. All he did was manage to keep himself blocked off from me, _Sam reasoned calmly._ And we need to try something, Dean_. _Protection while we sleep isn't enough. And what's to say he won't see through Bobby's cloak anyhow? If Crowley's longbow troop catches up to us we'll be sitting ducks, and you know it. Besides, I may have a few tricks of my own to experiment with._

I huffed, not happy with this at all, but glanced at Lucas.

_Your call, man. Whatever you want to do, we'll follow._

Lucas nodded, apologetically. _In that case, I'd prefer to take Sam up on his offer._

Couldn't blame him for that. Pack safety rested on his shoulders.

There was little discussion after that. In fact, each of us was lost in our own thoughts, either staring into the camp fires, or gazing out into the night. There was a strange atmosphere to the Home Pack tonight, and I'd never known them to be so tense, or so quiet. I guess they were missing the rest of their family, maybe worrying about them, which was understandable.

The food was good, and we enjoyed every morsel of it, but we were unable to savour it in the way we normally would. There was no light hearted conversation about recipes, or the latest hunt, or maybe some amusing stories about their travels. All was quiet and no one was in the mood for small talk.

Even Patrick, the Irish musician, who was often so good natured and cheerful, seemed solemn and withdrawn tonight, though he had smiled gently and raised his mug of mead in toast to our unexpected arrival.

After demolishing our meals and chugging back a couple jugs of mead, Sam changed and curled up in front of one of the fire pits. His steady gaze remained fixed on the glowing embers and his nose twitched.

After a quick change of my own, I curled around him and rested my head over the back of his neck.

_Sammy? What are you doing? _I asked, curiously.

_It's a form of self-hypnosis,_ he replied, sleepily. _One of the things Bobby taught me last time we were at the Salvage Yard. Means I can relax and rest but at the same time keep Bobby's ritual charged. I'm gonna see if I can't give it boost._

I remembered that time. Bobby had placed Sam inside a Devil's trap in order to safely learn how to use his powers. It took a lot out of the kid, but it opened the door to all sorts of possibilities and eventually enabled Sam to shield us from the deadly spells and fireballs hurled at us at the battle of Mont Noir. The same night Jake, AKA the Hulk, nearly killed Sam with a silver sword.

He displayed a lot of new skills, in fact. One of which I found myself wondering about.

_Hey, Sam?_

_Uhuh? _He huffed, distractedly.

_You ever used that teleportation thing since that night with Jake?_

Sam's body twitched, possibly with his own painful memories of Mont Noir.

_No._

Hmm. Short answer and no explanation.

_I was just wondering, is all _I prompted, trying for casual, but Sam wasn't fooled for an instant.

Sam huffed again. _If you must know, I hated it. It was scary, disorienting, and made me sick to my stomach. _He shuddered. _To be honest, I've not been able to do it since, which is fine by me 'cos I __**never**__ want to do that again._

I nodded slightly. That was pretty much identical to how I felt when Bobby worked a transportation spell, so we could go after Sam. Kid had pulled a disappearing act on us and gone to seek out Jake for the big showdown.

_Yeah, know that feeling._

_Ok, _said Sam and rubbed at his snout with a large paw, like a giant dormouse with an itch. _Can I get on with this please?_

_Sure. Sorry. _I shrugged and remained quiet.

Next thing I knew, the fire began to… well… no other word for it. It began to _sparkle. _Like someone had just sprinkled a handful of fairy dust on the flames. It grew upwards like a thin funnel of light, and once it reached the forest canopy it spread out like a blanket to all corners of the camp.

As quickly as it had grown, it faded leaving behind glowing after effects that dazzled and spun like firebugs, until they, too, disappeared.

_Wow. That's so cool, Sammy… Sam?_

"_SSSNNNRRRZZZZZZ….."_

I grinned and gently licked his ear.

Jeeze. You wouldn't think his snoring could compete with a fog horn, huh?

_G'night, Sammy._

Poor Kid had worn himself out. I settled down, buried my own nose deep in his neck fur, closed my eyes, and let sleep take me along with him.

As usual, dawn came along way too quickly, bringing with it a low, lazy morning mist weaving between the trees.

I blinked open my eyes for a second, realised Sam was still asleep, and closed them again, happy to snooze for a while longer…

_Thud!_

Something hit me on the head.

_Ow! Sonofabitch!_

My head snapped up, eyes narrowed, teeth bared, and I growled deep in my throat.

Lucas stood a few feet away, grinning from ear to ear and juggling a couple of apples.

One lay nearby, a slight bruise forming on its ripe, red skin from where it had brained me a few seconds ago. I scowled. Respectfully, of course.

"C'mon, get up ya young, wee lazy bones!" the Alpha ordered, good naturedly. "You'll miss breakfast if you sleep in any longer, and then you'll be plain pissed!"

The smell of fresh baked bread and roasting meat had probably been beating at my nostrils for some time, but I was too deep in sleep to notice. Not so, now.

_Sammy, get up!_

Sam grumbled, eyes opened to slits, and stretched his paws out in front. His head sank back against his neck and wiggled from side to side as the long, drawn out stretch continued, tall ears turned back against his head and nose twitching adorably.

_Timeisit? _He asked, fuzzily.

_Uh…_ I looked regretfully at where my Rolex should have been. _Dawn._

_Holy shit! _Sam sprang to his paws, glancing guiltily about the camp. _I meant to be up earlier than that to check the cloak…_

_Calm yourself, laddie, _Lucas chimed in before the kid had an aneurysm over it. _I already checked. All is well._

_Really? _Sam blinked slowly and scratched lazily at an ear.

_Indeed._ The Alpha's grin softened. _It worked a damn treat, Sam. You did a good job. I wandered around for quite a while, and according to young Arthur I was still cloaked._

Sam seemed to relax a little, tongue lolled out over his chops.

_That's great. We can move and still be cloaked from above._

_But what about at ground level? _I wondered.

Sam shook his head. _That's a different story. From what I sensed of it, Bobby's spell relies on using the forest canopy, so who knows?_

So, the way I understood it, if Crowley stayed up in the mountains, we were safe. But if he came back down into the forest and ran into us, we were fucked.

Great.

Breakfast was a little more light hearted, morale lifted by the rising sun, perhaps, or by the notion that we had some degree of safety from Crowley, albeit superficial.

Great hunks of meat and gravy were served up on bread, and my mouth watered continually just from the smell.

Even Sam appeared to appreciate the sights and smells, as two platters heaped high with steaming food were handed over to us. His anxiety had dampened down a notch, and when he changed his shoulders seemed more relaxed.

Lucas was planning the hunting party for nightfall, which we happily volunteered for. There's nothing like a good hunt after a long day's trek. And it was kind of nice to be a part of the Home guys for a while. They were more open and accepting than the Canadian Pack, their life style less complicated by the outside world, I guess.

Or maybe my judgment was clouded and harsh after Sam's trial and heart stopping brush with capital punishment. Although it had all been resolved, and Sam was no longer considered an outlaw, it would be a hard one to forgive.

_You ok, Dean?_

I glanced up. Sam was watching me closely with a worried look on his face.

_I'm fine,_ _just drifted off for a second there. _I licked the last of the gravy from my fingers and held out my hand for his empty platter. _You want some more food, Sammy?_

He blushed and smiled shyly. _Yeah, thanks. Can't believe how hungry I've been the last few days._

I reached up and brushed a few stray locks of hair away from the site of his head injury. It was pretty much healed though still red and swollen, and the scar would fade in a few days.

_Not surprising. _I concluded, and patted his shoulder. _That was one hell of a crack to the noggin, kiddo._

Sam nodded. _I guess._

Our metabolism speeds up for injury, all the better for fast healing. But it also means we need more fuel to compensate. In Sam's case it must have been running like a nuclear reactor. Even for werewolves, an open skull fracture is pretty nasty business.

I wandered over to the cooking fire and grinned at Arthur.

_I take it you're Vicky's Sous Chef?_

The young wolf tilted his head at me, frowning. _Huh?_

I rephrased it. _You're Vicky's apprentice cook?_

His frown disappeared and a gentle smile emerged. _Yeah, she's great to work with. Really patient and doesn't yell at me when I get something wrong._

He couldn't have been older than fourteen years old, yet there was something about him that seemed even younger than that. He carried a naïve innocence that put me in mind of Sam when he was that age, right before I turned him. And it occurred to me that in spite of everything, my_ brotherson_ still had that innocence to a certain extent.

It humbled me, and made my heart swell a little.

…_she also taught me to make nettle mead, and I'm trying out an elderberry mead recipe but its turning mud brown and I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to look like that…_

Arthur, apparently, was also a bit of a chatterbox when he got started. Again, just like Sam at fourteen, before John made his life a misery.

…_I'm not tall enough to pick the berries from the trees, so I just collect the ones on the ground…_

While Arthur happily chattered on, describing some of Victoria's latest culinary experiments in detail, he dished up more food and mead, and I was content to just listen.

_Well, _I interrupted him with a thoughtful frown. _I suggest that you wash the elderberries before you start. It might be the dust and mud that turned it that colour._

Arthur nodded eagerly. _Thanks Dean. I'll give that a try._

Yeah, Arthur was a great kid and smart with it, but common sense seemed to evade him.

Like most teenagers, huh?

_Let me know how you get on with that,_ I thanked him for the food and headed back.

Sam was grinning at me, eyes dancing with laughter.

_That kid's really taken a shine to you, Dean._

I snorted. _Of course. All kids do_. _I __**am**__ pretty cool, ya know!_

Sam laughed out loud. _Notice how you keep having to remind me?_

He dodged out the way of my elbow and slopped hot gravy over his knee.

"Shit!"

"Serves you right, ungrateful wretch!" I said, smugly.

Sam's nose elongated to make way for his huge wolfed-out tongue. He licked up the mess, smacking his chops eagerly.

"Waste not want not," I remarked, approvingly.

Grinning in agreement, he carried on eating.

As soon as breakfast was over, the Home Pack quickly and efficiently cleared the area and checked over every inch to make sure they'd left no trace of themselves behind. This was kind of the first time we'd seen them fully on manoeuvres so we watched, curiously, as each pack member strapped a small, leather hold-all to their backs and changed. In human form, the hold-alls were loose and poorly fitted, but after the change they became moulded to the wolf, as though designer made, like the best fitting Armani suit. We learned that each one contained food and drink, one thick Navaho blanket, plus a spare, and very few personal effects.

Home Pack wolves don't carry emotional attachment to inanimate trinkets. They have each other and their memories, and that's enough for them.

Some of the older wolves carried larger hold-alls, almost like a Marine's backpack. These contained rudimentary weapons or basic cooking equipment.

Lucas carried the largest and heaviest. Arthur padded beside him, gazing adoringly up at his Alpha, his small form occasionally breaking into a trot to keep up. And that's when the truth hit me.

_So, you kept that quiet,_ I told Lucas a few hours later, when Arthur had hung back to chat with Sam.

Lucas didn't insult me by denying it.

_Well, Arthur doesn't want to be treated any differently for being the Alpha's son, _he murmured with a small, proud smile in his young pup's direction. _He has very strict principals about nepotism, so no one was allowed to mention it._

Lucas cleared his throat. _Sorry about that. Not my intention to deceive, but you know how kids are, eh?_

_No need to apologise,_ I replied, graciously. _I understand completely._

I wasn't insulted by it at all. In fact, I admired the kid all the more, and it seemed like a very 'Sam' attitude to take. Glancing back at the two of them talking earnestly, Sam's huge wolf form dwarfing the little one, I couldn't help but smile.

_He'll make a good Alpha someday,_ I remarked, softly. And I wasn't just talking about Arthur.

Lucas nodded, knowingly. _Aye, he will at that._

Right then, Arthur was bending Sam's ear about mead recipes and cooking techniques. Sam caught my eye and winked. He'd obviously taken a mutual liking to the Alpha's young son.

Our trek took us right the way back across to the river, where the Alpha's senior wolves sniffed up and down the bank, checking for Crowley's scent.

The report came back negative. The bastard had indeed covered himself again, but his Type Ones weren't nearly so competent. Not only did they leave little patches of scent here and there, mainly through urination, but they also disturbed earth, trees and bushes in their frantic hunt for Sam and me.

Our pursuers were still down river, while we had doubled back and overtaken them.

Score one for us.

_Won't be long now, _Sam murmured from beside me. _We'll soon be up at the waterfall, and then it's only a couple more days to the Canadian Pack._

I rubbed my muzzle against his ears. Sam responded by ducking his head down and under my snout, still the over-grown pup when he needed reassurance.

_Don't do anything stupid, Sam, _I muttered after a few minutes silence.

_What do you mean by that?_ He tried to sound baffled but the plain fact is Sam can't convincingly lie to me.

_You __**know**__ what I mean,_ I replied with a sniff. _No heroics, no jumping straight in without thinking, and no turning your back on the enemy…_

_Now just wait a second…_ he stiffened, angrily.

_No, Sam. _I didn't want to bring it up, but it needed to be said. _Last time it was Jake, but Crowley is…__**was **__our uncle. I'm just worried you can't be objective over this because its family, and if you turn your back on that sonofabitch in the heat of battle, it might get you killed._

_Dean…_ he sighed but said nothing more, probably because he knew I was right.

_I wouldn't change that about you for the world, Sammy, _I added, quietly. _It's what you makes you __**you**__, and its one of things that makes me so damn proud to call you my son._

Gently licking his nose, and breathing warm air on his face, I bumped against him in a show of support.

_But I won't stand by and let you get hurt like that again, so_ turning to him, I inwardly winced when I met his glowing blue-green gaze. Sam wasn't going to like this. _When we get back to Tobius, you get behind the walls and stay hidden._

His eyes widened with shock. _What?_

I didn't flinch, just stared hard at him and employed the dirtiest trick in the book.

_That's an order._

**_TBC..._**

**_Oh dear. Dean's not going to be a popular chappy with Sam, eh? _**

**_Not much happened in this chapter, I know, but I hope you all enjoyed it regardless, and we can all agree that Matthew, Logan, and young Arthur are absolutely adorable. _**

**_More action coming up soon... provided you guys really want it...?_**

**_Love ST xxx_**


	17. Chapter 17

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 17**

_**Now…**_

**There's a distinct change in the atmosphere, which is punctuated by several cleared throats that even _sound_ embarrassed, if that's at all possible.**

**When he speaks at last, Dean glances over at Sam and grins sheepishly.**

"**Sorry, dude," he says. "I guess I was panicking."**

**Sam just shrugs it off with a sad smile. "Looking back, I can't say I blame you. I probably would have reacted the same way, after everything we've been through," he drops his gaze, and says no more.**

**Tobius and Lucas share a knowing look, while Dean sighs.**

"**You'd gotten hurt so many times I was beginning to despair," he replies. "I knew you were falling into place as my Beta, that you would die for me. And _that_…" his voice breaks with emotion, and he's struggling to get the words out.**

**Sam reaches across and grasps Dean's shoulder. "I get it," he says, softly. "Honestly, I do…"**

_**Then…**_

Soon after I'd issue my directive, Sam changed to human form.

"Can I have a word?" Sam had asked with a supremely false air of calm. "In _private?_"

Anybody with ears and a brain would have heard the underlying edge of anger, and I knew I was walking a tight rope. But this was no time to back down. He was too young for this battle. In fact, he was too young for most of the battles we've been forced to face, so for once I was going to stop being Alpha and protect my son like any father should, one way or another, even if he hated me for it.

Because I was right, and in time Sammy would understand that.

"Sam, just listen!" I demanded as he turned away suddenly, expecting me to follow, and started walking. But the kid's taller than me and with that comes a larger stride. I was almost running to keep up. Almost. I _was_ acting as Alpha, after all. It's a matter of dignity. "Sammy, get back here!"

But Sam ignored me and kept stalking through the forest, away from the Home Pack, his face like thunder.

Lucas caught my gaze and gave a discreet nod. _You've got your work cut out there, laddie. Don't envy you at all._

_Any advice? _I'd asked, weakly.

_It's a little late for that, I'm afraid, _his eyes flashed sympathetically, then he hurried on after the rest of his pack.

In other words, I'd already gone against any advice he would have had to offer.

Sam stopped abruptly as soon as we were a decent distance from the Home Pack, and whirled to face me, eyes glowing with fury.

"That was a low friggin' blow, Dean. How could you do that to me?" he demanded. "I thought we were a team, for fuck sake!"

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, we are, Sam. But when we get back to Tobius things will change…"

"Oh, right, 'cos I'll no longer hold Beta status, that means I'm benched?" Sam retorted, voice rising steadily. "I'm no _use_ to you anymore, is that what you're saying?"

"No and no!" I could feel my own temper being sorely tested by now, mainly because he wasn't letting me finish. "You…"

"You don't trust me!" he carried on ignoring me, now pacing up and down, and I pitied the vegetation under his bare feet as it got trampled to a pulp. "I get that! But this is my fight too, Dean, this is _my family_ too! I've learned from my mistakes, and I have a right to _prove _that!"

"God dammit will you fucking _listen_!" I finally snapped, rounded on Sam and pinned him to the nearest tree by his shoulders. His eyes, up close, were wide and glistening with hurt, so I swallowed down a knot of guilt and softened my approach. I reached up and rubbed his nape, tangling my fingers with the soft curls at the base of his skull. "Out here without Tobius, I'm your Alpha, but when we get back Tobius resumes that role, and I go back to being our bodyguard, and that means guarding your life _as well as _Sire's. Shutup!" I growled a warning when he opened his mouth. "I'm not finished."

I stared at him, watching the stubborn determination on his face, wondering how I could convince him. Then it came to me.

"Look, I do trust you, alright? I trust you with my life, don't let anyone tell you otherwise, but, Sam…" I squeezed his neck again. "We're gonna need someone behind those walls to carry on if anything happens to us. Someone to protect the youngsters and their families. The Canadian Pack have their guards and the NLSU, and that's all just fine and dandy, but the majority of the population are farmers, not fighters or warriors. In an ordinary battle they'd be ok, but we're talking about _Type Ones_ Sam! Those poor bastards don't stand a chance if even _one_ of Crowley's army breaks through our front lines. You _know_ that! You've seen up close and personal just how much strength and speed those psychopaths have. The Canadian Pack will be ripped to shreds."

I could see by the resigned look on his face that he knew I was right.

Physically, Type One non-lunars match Type Two. But Type Ones, unburdened by honour or sentiment, could find the smallest chink in their opponent's emotional armour and use it as effectively as any sword. I hated to admit it but this, combined with the ability to disable or listen in on thought projections at will, meant Crowley had the far superior army.

It just depended on numbers.

Also, Tobius couldn't be seen to step back from the front line, that isn't the way werewolves fight. He would stand beside his brothers in battle, and as his Beta it was my duty to join him.

So that left Sam on his own and, although I would gladly have fought alongside him…

"I just can't risk losing my son," I said out loud, suddenly, desperately, and felt my tear ducts moisten. "And I know that's selfish but I can't do it, Sammy, so don't ask me to."

I pushed away from him, changed and headed off in the direction of the Home Pack, keeping my ears open for Sam. Soon as I heard him follow me, I relaxed a little.

I wasn't sure I'd won exactly, but it_ had_ been a victory of some sort. And it made me feel lousy as hell.

The Home Pack had made significant progress during the morning, napped for a few hours that afternoon, then set off again as soon as darkness fell. Another five hours and Lucas called another halt for food.

Sam and I had both been quiet after our little heart to heart, though Sam stayed beside me during the journey. Occasionally, I'd felt his questioning, mournful gaze on me but he'd thankfully said nothing.

Most of us had changed to human form in order to set up shelters, shake out blankets, get the cooking fires lit and generally check everyone was ok after the journey.

A traipse through some brambles earlier had left a few thorns embedded in pads, usually in the younger members whose paws were still soft and sensitive, not hardened by age and long years of travel like their older peers.

Arthur was one such victim. His young face was stoic, eyes narrowed, head and snout up, as Lucas held his paw and gently worked the thorn free. But Arthur's small body, still endowed with soft puppy fur, was quivering slightly in his father's arms.

The kid didn't let out even so much as whimper as the half inch long thorn popped out, glistening with his own blood.

"That's my boy," Lucas was crooning to his pup and gently scratching his ears. "Not bad for your first thorn, laddie."

Arthur responded by rubbing his head against his father's chest and sighing contentedly.

That kid, once again, reminded me so much of Sam when he was a puppy that watching him kind of left this little ache in my chest.

"Ready for a hunt, Sammy?"I asked, jovially, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yeah_,_" Sam replied, with a kind of awkward half smile. "Sure am."

Sam's nose was still out of joint, that much was certain, but he was making an effort to keep things congenial between us, something I have to admit I'm not sure I could have managed if the roles had been reversed.

He was right, though . I _had _struck a low blow, insulted Sam's honour and effectively demoted him within our own pack. And though he could now see why I did it, it still must've hurt like hell.

"Ok then," I was about to change when Lucas called out to me.

Sam was already in wolf form. _You want me to wait?_ he asked.

"Nah, you go on ahead," I replied. "I'll catch up."

Sam gave a small nod and trotted off after the hunting party.

When I turned it was to find Lucas watching Sam with narrowed eyes.

"You do realise what you've done, right?" he said, finally looking at me.

I sighed. "Yeah, I know, I've been a selfish bastard. He's already taken great pains to point that out."

"Hmm. That's a very nice way of putting it," Lucas stared at me. "Another way of putting it is to say that you've managed to lob off his bollocks before he's had the proper time to grow into them!"

I blinked at his tone and my mouth dropped open, but nothing came out.

"Letting go, Dean, is one of the most important lessons to learn if you want to be a successful and respected Alpha," Lucas carried on as if I wasn't busy trying to figure out where my tongue had scurried off to. "Your relationship with Sam is unique, so take my advice. When you're Alpha to him, you can't be his father. Not anymore, not when he is your Beta and bodyguard. You can pick and choose your moments to be one or the other, but both at the same time? That just won't work; you'll end up confusing the both of you. So, be his _brother_ in times like this and he'll understand that better."

I knew he was just trying to help so I kept myself in check, and stayed respectful to our host.

"I get what you're saying, honestly I do," I dropped my gaze for a second, nodding slowly, then raised my head again and stared him square in the eye. "But I have my reasons. I know what I'm doing, and Sam's time will come. But I thank you for your concern."

The Alpha eyed me for a moment, then nodded, any trace of anger now gone and replaced with something akin to approval.

I _didn't_ mention that if keeping Sam safe a while longer, at least until he reaches his prime, means having to hurt his feelings a little then so be it. Whatever it takes, because I love that kid more than anything, more than my own life, and I'd rather die defending his than have it the other way round.

"In that case, laddie, I bid you a good hunt," the Alpha moved off back to his pup with a soft, knowing smile on his face.

I didn't say any of that, because Lucas already understood.

Somehow I had managed to politely convey to the Home Pack Alpha that what went on between Sammy and me was none of his God damned business.

But this needed some serious consideration because, whether I liked it or not, Lucas was quite correct, and I was pretty sure Tobius would echo his sentiments.

I shook off my misgivings, changed, and caught up with the hunting party.

Patrick was padding alongside Sam, the two of them watching their surroundings and chatting comfortably, completely at ease with each other.

I joined them and gently brushed against Sammy, my tail curling over his.

_Everything ok? _he asked, quietly, peering at me with curiosity and concern.

_Yep,_ I answered easily. _Nothing to worry about. He just wanted to know if we're still gonna hold my prime celebrations at the Canadian Pack is all._

Sam knew I was lying, I could see that, but he tactfully let it go. He appeared to consider that question seriously, though.

_And?_

As it happened, I hadn't given it much thought either, but now that it was brought up…

_How would you feel about that, Sam? _I asked, and all three of us stopped.

Sam turned to Patrick. _Sorry, dude…_

Patrick shook his furry head, that friendly, Irish grin never wavering. Even in wolf form, you could still tell it was him from his grin alone.

_Don't apologise. I can see you've got something important to discuss,_ he looked at me and his expression turned serious. _If you'll hear my advice, the prime is not something to take lightly because you'll remember the moment for the rest of your life, how ever long that may be. It's important that you choose a place to your liking and comfort, so choose wisely, my friend._

With a coquettish tilt of the head, he bounded away after the others.

_So… _Sam sat back on his haunches, and I recognised the changed of mode.

We weren't father and son right then, or even Alpha and Beta.

We were in brother mode. Sam sure seemed to be better at this than me.

I sat beside him and sighed.

_Can't say I'm all that keen on the place. Don't get me wrong, it's pretty cool and all, but…_ I sighed again, not knowing how to put it without making Sam feel like he was influencing my decision.

_It's because of that trial, right? _he said and after a moment of silence when I still didn't answer he shuffled forward on his butt, extended his snout and began snuffling gently at my ear. _Because of what might have happened if I'd been convicted._

Guess I should've known he'd figure it out, huh?

_Does it feel like a betrayal?_ he continued, and whined softly. _'Cos it was family?_

_Not as such, _I replied, having a tough time explaining this. _I guess I'm just having a hard time reconciling __**family **__with __**execution**_.

_You know Castiel wouldn't have let it get that far, _Sam pointed out. _He was following protocol so we could flush out Crowley._

_In other words: using you as bait, Sam! _I growled, and gave my fur a good haughty shake.

_It's not like he planned it that way,_ Sam said, reasonably. _I don't think he would have risked his Alpha's life. But with what I did to Marcus, and how Crowley brought it about? It just happened, so Castiel made the best of a bad situation, like __**we**__ often do, huh?_

_I know that, Sam, _and I did, honestly. _And I understand. But it's not just that._

I looked up at the sky, and finally it came out, what was really bugging me about the Canadian Pack.

_It was more the way the crowds treated you on the way to the trial that clinched it for me. They didn't even know you, had no idea of the facts, yet they had you down as guilty before you'd even been convicted. It's just wrong._

_Yeah, but you also saw how the sergeant reacted, right? _smartass Sam answered back. _He wouldn't tolerate it. They're not all bad, Dean, just some aren't too bright. Kinda like humans in that respect. But, you know… _he rubbed his head against mine. _Whatever you decide, wherever you want to celebrate your prime, Tobius and I will support you._

We both looked up at the night sky, wondering if Tobius was out there somewhere, watching the crescent moon and waiting for us.

_Yeah. I know._

The hunt didn't last long, with Patrick taking down a large stag that would feed the entire Home Pack for a couple of days, tops. After gutting the creature and paying it our respects, we changed to human form and dragged the carcass back to camp, with Patrick looking rightfully smug, and telling wildly exaggerated tales of his fight to the death with the ferocious beast. He soon had us all snorting with laughter.

Patrick was more than happy to repeat the story for young Arthur when we were all seated around the fire, but only managed to get halfway before a loud howling from several miles away tore up the night, and we immediately recognised the call.

_Tobius! _exclaimed Lucas, scrambling to his feet and ditching his platter of food. _He's looking for us!_

Without another word, the entire camp dissolved. Weapons were checked, fires were banked, food was either abandoned or stored away, non-essential packs were buried in hastily dug pits, and everyone changed into wolf form.

As one, we took off at a gallop through the trees.

All the while, Tobius continued to howl, his pitch angry and mournful.

_What the hell happened? _Sam growled.

_When we didn't come back with Crowley he must have set out after us, _I answered._ Let's just hope he didn't run afoul of that bastard…_

It all happened so fast.

We had no clue that the Pack's cover was broken by that point. In fact, the first we knew of it was the dreaded and familiar sound of a silver-tipped arrow whistling its way through the night air.

The thud and gasp of pain that followed warned us someone had been hit.

I leapt at Sam, rolling us over and over, my body shielding his while another volley rained down around us.

That eerie whistling continued, along with sudden twangs where the marksman had missed his target. But there were several more thuds and whimpers among the pack, and I hoped to God no one had taken an arrow to the heart.

Sadly, we wouldn't be that lucky.

I can't even begin to describe how scary this was, how it shook us up and smothered any feelings I might have had of safety.

Lucas bellowed out the howl for retreat, and when I looked up it was easy to see why.

At least two of the Home Pack were injured, one caught by an arrow in the front right leg, another in the rear left haunch. Painful, but not life threatening, provided they were treated quickly enough. Several of the others, without hesitation changed into human form, hoisted the ailing wolves over their shoulders, and raced back into the trees.

But another three wolves lay still and silent on the forest floor, killed instantly.

Several heavy weight arrows pierced their backs, and presumably went all the way to their hearts.

The first priority was to get the rest of the Pack to safety, so I sprang up, snapped at Sammy's neck and growled _Move! Now!_

But Sam was already on the same wavelength and preparing for our flight away from the ambush.

What was left of our party dashed off into the night, our main aim to avoid capture and regroup, but just as we were departing in haste Sam sniffed and jerked his head towards the fallen.

_Dean…_

_Yeah, I know. Just keep going, ok?_

One of the dead was Patrick, the Irish songster, and the other two had also been among the evening's hunting party earlier on.

It was surely no coincidence that the bowman had taken out three of the strongest members of the Pack. That left us with around fifteen wolves, not including Sam and me. And though the bowman had stopped firing while the pack made its get away, there was every certainty he'd be back. He was whittling down our numbers bit by bit, and we were running out of time.

_Lucas? We need to get to Tobius now!_

The Alpha nodded. _I hear you._

His pup ran along beside him, and though the youngster remained calm and obeyed orders without argument, we could see he was terrified.

I threw back my head and let out an answering howl to Sire.

Tobius' pitch changed to one of relief and satisfaction.

After that, we were on silent running.

Sam and I immediately moved in around the Alpha and his son, an instinctive protective wall, while the rest of the Pack dispersed a little at the flanks, keeping the bowman's target as poorly defined as possible.

There were no more breaks for food or water; we ate and drank on the paw or foot, as it were, and there was no time to mourn the dead.

Tobius' scent crept up on us. In under a mile or so we'd be virtually on top of him.

_Are you two ok? _came Sire's anxious thoughts. _I found a patch of Sam's blood by the water fall. Been scouting the area ever since._

_I'm fine, _Sam answered in a soothing tone. _Knocked me for six, but I'm pretty much all healed up._

_That's good, young pup, _said Tobius, sounding less anxious. _What about you, Dean?_

_I'm super,_ I told him, dryly. _But some of the Home Pack aren't doing so great._

Tobius' large wolf form appeared ahead of us, front paws perched on a fallen tree, head up and ears twitching.

_Yes, so I heard, _his sorrowful gaze turned to Lucas. _I'm so sorry about your boys…_

But Lucas snorted and tossed his head like a warrior itching for battle.

_There'll be time enough for regrets later, _he growled in fury. _But right now, the best thing I can do for them is to hunt down their murderer and gut the bastard! Make sure he doesn't get to hurt anyone else._

The two wolves carrying the injured emerged from the trees beside Lucas, and nodded respectfully.

The Alpha raised up on his hind legs, sniffed gently at the wounded pack members, and whined comfortingly.

_We'll get you both patched up in no time,_ Lucas whispered. _But I'm afraid the war is over for you two._

The injured wolves whimpered softly in protest, but remained slumped in the arms of their Pack mates.

_Sorry Alpha…_

_I let you down…_

_Nothing to apologise for Ernest,_ Lucas licked at their noses and chuckled softly. _And Hayley? You did nothing of the sort. I'm proud of you both._

One of the rescuers held out a hand.

_Alpha, we thought you might want to keep these, _the taller one said, softly.

Two blood stained arrows gleamed evilly in the half light of the forest.

At some point during our escape from the bowman, the offending silver arrows had been removed from the injured pack members, but I knew from my own nursing experiences with Sam that their recovery would be long, hard and painful.

Lucas reverted back to human form and accepted the offerings. He sniffed along the lengths, careful not to touch the silver tips, and growled angrily.

_Thank you, Nerris,_ he replied, finally, then turned to face the rest of his Pack.

"Take a good look!" Lucas proclaimed aloud, and held the arrows aloft. "All of you! These are the kind of weapons we'll be dealing with. You saw what happened to Patrick, Christian and Thomas back there, so learn the lesson well. Watch each other's backs, and be vigilant at all times!"

Tobius watched with dark eyes as each and every wolf took that in. Even Arthur stared up at the arrows as though memorising this moment as a turning point in his young life.

How right he was, because his Alpha suddenly leaned over him.

"Arthur, I have a very important job for you," Lucas spoke softly to his pup. "I need you to guide the injured back to your mother for me. Nerris and Buckley," he nodded to the two original 'stretcher bearers' "will go with you to help carry them."

Arthur looked astonished and little hurt at the request, but after a silent battle of wills, whereby the Alpha stared him down, the youngster relented and bowed his head respectfully.

_As you wish, Alpha._

I turned to Sam and gave him a gentle nudge.

_Now why can't you be more like that?_

Sam snorted with laughter. _Because I'm not fourteen years old, and I have all my adult fur!_

I considered that for a second. _Fair comment._

We watched as the injured were quickly attended to, then sent on their way. Arthur trotted alongside, under strict orders not to linger, and to keep watch. They would be taking the long route home, as far from the Canadian grounds as possible.

Tobius padded around Sam and me, brushing up against us and crooning softly in welcome.

_You two had me worried! _he muttered, a little annoyed, and began checking us over for injury with his nose. _Have you any idea how long you've been gone?_

_Actually we don't… _I began.

_Far too long! _Tobius interrupted, grumpily. _After three days of waiting, I started out after you and followed your trail, then I detected silver in the air, found Sam's blood and a few abandoned arrows, and I thought 'oh God, Sam's got himself shot by bloody silver again!'…_

_Hey! _Sam tried to sound offended at first, but after some thought, even he couldn't deny his penchant for getting hurt. Instead he just gave a doggy shrug and murmured, _when you're right, you're right, I guess. Apart from the silver that is._

_But at least you stumbled upon the Home Pack, _Sire suddenly sighed deeply. _That was as much as I could hope for. Now, I can guess roughly what happened, but you'd best fill me in. Then I have a few things to tell you._

I nearly snorted at that. _Yeah. Crowley's got a Type One army of longbows trained up, and they're getting ready to storm the Canadian Pack._

Sire just stared at me. _You know, I had a nasty feeling you were going to say something along those lines._

_We also don't know how many he's got, _Sam added helpfully. _But they can all listen in on, or block, thought projections with quite a degree of control. Plus, Crowley can interfere with my special 'skills', __**and**__ he broke Bobby's cover spell, which was how we were ambushed in the first place.._

Tobius sat back on his haunches with a huff, and answered that decisively.

_Bugger._


	18. Chapter 18

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 18**

**Please welcome my oldest friend Nita Sanderson as my new beta reader. Thanks for all your support and for seeing me through many a time when I lost all confidence in myself.**

**Love ya gal!**

_**Now…**_

**Tobius makes a clucking noise with his tongue, and scratches his head.**

"**We certainly found ourselves in quite the predicament," he says, smiling ruefully.**

**Lucas snorts, inelegantly. "Now that's an understatement you English can be proud of!"**

"**I happen to be French by birth, old boy," Tobius shoots back in a fairly decent imitation of Sean Connery. "The wonders of dual nationality."**

"**French by birth," Lucas replies, sarcastically. "English by default, and sheer stubborn, pigheaded, snooty, looking down their noses at the rest of the world, think they own the bloody Universe…"**

**Tobius just grins proudly as the good natured insults continue.**

"**No point in denying the truth," he says when Lucas' tirade finally comes to a close. "The English really are that awesome."**

**Victoria, who is busy organising more mead, rolls her eyes and gives each wolf a hefty slap across the back of the head.**

"**Ow!" and "Bugger me that hurt!" is chorused in unison.**

"**Pack it in, you two!" she casts a baleful grin at Sam and Dean. "Now you know why we tend to keep them apart. It's like trying to run a kindergarten when they get together!"**

**Sam shakes his head, smiling. "Well, they've certainly shown us another side to being head of the pack." He turns to his _fatherbrother_ and says, quite straight faced. "You'll make an excellent Alpha, Dean."**

"**Uh… thanks," Dean replies, dryly, "I think." and shoots Sam a filthy look when the rest of the camp erupts with laughter. **

**He nods towards the camera. "Can I continue now?"**

_**Then…**_

_Right! _Sire blew out a breath and looked first at me, then at Sam. _Well, quite a bit has happened since you left._

He changed and called out to Lucas.

Once all wolves were gathered and in human form, Tobius filled us in.

For a start, Marcus had several members of the Pack Council placed under house arrest until the troubles with Crowley were resolved. Then the trials would begin. This break from protocol hadn't gone down well with the rest of the pack, but that was unavoidable.

The older the wolf, the less accepting they are of change. Just like humans, I guess.

But in this case, it was made worse by Marcus' show of mercy in abolishing capital punishment. Any wolves found guilty of treachery against the Alpha would be given a choice: imprisonment for a set term judged on an individual basis, or secondment 'overseas'.

Tobius made the second option sound like a fate worse than death, and for a former elder and Pack Council member it probably was. It meant serving in another pack for the rest of their lives, with no possibility of climbing the ranks. They'd be treated as ordinary pack members, and work the farmlands, forges, kitchens, whatever services their new pack needed from them.

Any attempt to escape would be met with harsh judgment.

Imprisonment would only be for the duration of fifty years minimum, rather than for life, but it would be in the dank, dark basement dungeons of the Canadian Pack, with only a small exercise yard for changing, and fed with whatever kitchen scraps were thrown to them.

Once their time was served they would be exiled from the Pack until they could prove their worth and earn forgiveness. Or they could go it alone for life.

In some ways, the imprisonment was harsher because of the fifty years in captivity – a wolf's worst nightmare, unable to hunt or run free under the stars - but at least they were eventually given the chance at freedom and atonement. The key was surviving the sentence with their sanity intact.

"As you can imagine, what was left of the council became divided right down the middle, and the whole affair degraded into shouting matches," Tobius sighed and flushed red with embarrassment. "I'm afraid they also started throwing food at each other. It was quite the spectacle."

I'll bet.

No doubt there was some serious debate going on in the Pack Council Chambers, with Marcus caught well and truly in the thick of it. I could just picture the poor guy, barking out orders and making some tough decisions over the raised voices of the elders. He'd probably resorted to scolding them like naughty school kids, or something.

"So," Tobius appeared to wince a little, and I got the impression that whatever he was about to say was probably the most outrageous, off-the-wall declaration Marcus could have ever made in Pack history. "Marcus temporarily dissolved the elder Council, and reformed a War Council with myself, Castiel, Sergeant Fisher, and Captain Byrnes as active advisors."

I blinked. Sam gasped.

"Who the hell is Captain Byrnes?" I asked, a little confused.

"Captain of the guard," Tobius answered, distractedly. "You met him briefly on our way to the Canadian Pack grounds after the fight arena."

Oh yeah. He was the wolf in charge of the clean up squad; it was this guy who first really tipped me off that there was something a little different about my Sire, at least compared to his siblings. Captain Byrnes had showed a silent, yet genuine respect for Tobius, and it was good to know he was on our side.

Lucas leaned forward excitedly.

"So you guessed Crowley was planning an attack, then?" the Home Pack Alpha asked, approvingly. "Excellent move on Marcus' part. Lets the pack know he means business."

"But," Sam began, startled. "That's also a pretty _bold_ move! There could be a mutiny inside the grounds."

"And it could be just what the remaining elders were hoping for," I added, reasonably. "Another chance to take a political shot at Marcus."

Tobius and Lucas grinned.

"Not likely," Tobius explained. "They're all scared of Crowley, and what he might do to them if he wins. They don't _like_ what Marcus has done, because it breaks protocol. But at the end of the day, they can't deny it was the smartest action to take under the circumstances. And, in doing so, Marcus has demonstrated the strength of his authority and leadership over them, which is what most pack members crave, whether they'll admit to it or not."

I thought that through, looked at Lucas with greater understanding, and then echoed his remark from a few days ago.

"Man, I _can_ see why you guys stayed in the trees. This political, diplomacy crap is exhausting the hell out of me."

Sam nodded his agreement with enthusiasm. "Damn straight! It's almost as complicated as human politics."

"So, are all of Sergeant Fisher's men for the Alpha?" I asked, hopefully.

Tobius chuckled. "Pretty much. There were one or two who were loyal to Crowley, but they took off not long after you boys left. The rest are back behind the walls, making preparations."

"What kind of preparations?" Sam asked, curiously.

"Opening up the armoury, weapons check, etc." Tobius looked around our little group. "We have around two hundred fully trained fighters, all expert longbow men and women. Every other post-prime wolf has received some training at some point in their lives, but they may be a little rusty."

I didn't look at Sam, just lowered my head a little but I felt him tense up beside me.

"Post-prime?" the kid sounded a little pissed.

Sire looked at his grandson affectionately. "Yes, only those wolves over the age of twenty five are permitted to fight, by Pack law."

"Yes, but surely those rules can be abandoned with the Canadian Pack in such peril?" Lucas insisted, on Sam's behalf. "If Marcus falls to Crowley, the rest of us will be in trouble!"

Tobius shook his head. "It was Marcus' call to make," he looked from Sam to me. "I'm sorry boys. But that's the way it is."

It was _my_ turn to stiffen up.

"What?" I stared back at him. "You can't be serious! I'm only a few weeks away from twenty five!"

Sire raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid that makes no difference, Dean. You are not old enough to fight. That _is_ Pack law."

"But…" I was almost speechless; almost, but not quite. "But Marcus is not our Alpha. _You _are! Don't get me wrong, Sire, I respect Marcus and all. Hell! I like the guy, even! But I don't take orders from him!"

Tobius huffed. "Dean, there is no argument. We are here as guests of Marcus, and he won't see underage wolves getting hurt or worse killed! So you and Sam are relegated to inside the walls," he pursed his lips when I made a disgusted noise. "If it's any consolation, I would rather have you two out there watching my back, but we do need some good fighters on the inside to defend the walls in case of a breach."

Sam and I looked at each other in silence, but I read the anger on his face clearly enough, and no doubt he saw the same on mine.

"You'll both be needed to run errands, fetch ammunition, help the wounded, and assist communications. But the walls will be high priority," Tobius went on, ignoring our quiet tantrum. "We have no real idea how this is all going down, but it is absolutely vital that should there be a breach in the walls, you boys will be there to defend it and send a runner to warn the rest of the population."

"Then what?" I snapped, angrily. "If the walls are overthrown, what do you expect us to do?"

"Then," Tobius commanded, in a tone that brooked no quarrel, and his eyes narrowed. "You gather the pups, and get out. That's an order, Dean. You get out, and get to my cabin with the other members of the Home Pack. They will need your protection if this all falls apart and the Type Ones come after you."

Lucas nodded reluctantly. "You make sure the rest of my Pack are safe," he said, sadly. "For if the walls are breached, I doubt many of us will be coming back."

Tobius looked around and nodded. "Right. Let's go. Crowley may know by now that Sam and Dean have met up with friends, so he'll be heading for the walls as we speak. We must get there before him."

"If he's not already there," Sam murmured, worriedly.

"Doubtful, young pup," Tobius' grin was feral. "While you were holidaying in the mountains with this daft old bugger," he nodded to Lucas, who snorted in response. "I managed to inconvenience Crowley's army. Not by much, but enough to piss him off and slow him down."

"Let me guess," I remarked. "False trails?"

Tobius carried on grinning. "And some traps. Took a couple of Type One's out in the process. They'll be down for a while as yet, and no doubt Crowley is busy going apeshit over it."

"Nice one, Toby!" Lucas remarked with a wide grin.

Sam and I nodded with enthusiasm.

"That should buy us a lot of time," Sam mused, happily. "Maybe enough for Bobby and Pastor Jim to catch up…"

"Well, let's not get over confident at this stage," said Lucas, frowning. "We still have to beat Crowley back to the grounds, and he knows these forests better than any of us."

"We're only about a day's run from there," Tobius stood up and stretched. "But you're right. We'd better be on our way."

This time, everything was ditched. Food, blankets, and even water was dumped in a small pit and covered over. The only things the Pack kept were potential weapons, which were carried strapped to their backs.

We set off at a run. There was no time to worry about stealth, so the pace was fast and brutal, but everyone was fit and strong, and managed to keep up, something we might have struggled to do if Arthur had stayed with us. No offence meant to the kid.

As we eventually passed under the weather shield, the air grew a little warmer, and the forest canopy lost its snowy roof.

Our formation was fairly scattered to the untrained eye, but anyone in the know would have figured out that our diffuse pattern made us a harder target for any armies of longbows hidden nearby.

A couple of hours later, one of the others spotted the main road to the pack grounds up ahead and doubled back to tell the two Alphas.

Tobius narrowed his eyes and sniffed the air. _Can't catch a scent, but that doesn't mean we're in the clear._

He and Lucas began herding our small battalion away from the road and I gave Sire an enquiring look.

_We'll run parallel to the road about five miles back from it, in case of ambush,_ he explained.

That made a lot of sense. There was every chance the road was being watched by Crowley's non-lunars, waiting to attack anyone going in or coming out of pack grounds. We stood a better chance of getting in by sneaking up to the walls from the tree line, and moving round to either the main or rear gates.

But Tobius was about to surprise us all.

After another few miles, he stopped and signalled for everyone to halt. Then he started sniffing frantically at the ground, and nosing among pine needles and rabbit droppings.

_Hmm, _he whispered to himself. _Not here. Perhaps a little further on. Yes, that's right…_

Lucas, Sam and I exchanged bewildered glances but said nothing, not wanting to interrupt Sire's musings.

Tobius suddenly looked up and stared all around him, then broke into a run. He didn't stop until he came upon an old oak tree which seemed out of place among all the pines and conifers. He carried on sniffing, and after a while began pawing at the ground, right at the base of the tree.

_It's here! Of course it's here!_

I blinked. Had Sire finally gone off the deep end?

_Dean, look! _Sam panted, excitedly, beside me.

The earth beneath Sire's powerful paws was crumbling a little, giving way and revealing old tree roots that twisted around each other in a web-like pattern. But the big reveal was the large, man/wolf-sized hole guarded by a wrought iron door that looked as if it hadn't been opened in centuries.

_Are we talking about a secret entrance here? _I asked, dryly. _'Cos, dude. That's just lame. Sounds like something out of a kid's story._

Tobius levelled a glare at me. _It may be lame __**dude**_, _but it's also useful. Crowley doesn't know about this._

Sam snuffled around the tree, checking it out for himself. _How can you be so sure? Someone might have told him._

And at that, Sire looked mildly uncomfortable. _Not even Marcus knows._

Sam and I looked at each other, while Lucas let loose a short guffaw. Clearly, the older Alpha wasn't at all surprised by this. Probably _nothing_ surprised him when it came to Tobius Le Salle.

_And why would that be? _I drawled.

_I'm the only one who knows this back way into the grounds even exists, _Sire replied, a little bit smug now that the grand secret was out. _Because I built it._

Sam and I stared at him in disbelief.

_Don't you think the Pack Alpha has the right to know that there's a potentially serious breach in the walls? _Sam demanded, obviously a little shocked that Tobius would keep a secret like that from his brother.

Tobius sighed heavily. _And that's why I'm the only one who knows._

_But… Why? _I asked, still bewildered and staring at the underground door, noting various symbols forged into the ironwork. I'd never seen the like of them before, but something about them just screamed 'protection'_._

_Because, _Tobius said, slowly, as though addressing a child, a clear sign of his waning patience. _I suspected that, one day, someone among the elders might try to start a mutiny within the pack, and attempt to overthrow the Alpha. The entrance is there for outside reinforcements to come to the Alpha's aid._

_In other words, _Sam murmured_. You._

_Quite, _Sire responded. _Now, if there are no more questions…_ he held out a paw, indicating the tunnel entrance. _Shall we?_

_Wait a minute! _Lucas spoke up and looked at the tunnel. _You'll need someone to stay behind and cover this up in case Crowley and his scum bags come looking._

Tobius immediately protested. _And what if he does? If you stay behind, you'll be Type One fodder. We need you on the front lines, Lucas._

_Yes, but at least we can guard the tunnel and keep him from finding it, _said Lucas, firmly. _Worse comes to worse, strategically speaking, we can defend the entrance from within. And besides, if I know Vicky, she'll be heading our way soon enough with Singer, Murphy and the werebears, so I might need to go out there and bring her in safely. Not to mention Cornelius. They'll all need a safe way in once the battle begins._

Tobius just gazed at his old friend in despair, knowing he was right.

We parted ways reluctantly, keeping our goodbyes short and to the point. The Home Pack Alpha stood tall, proud and fierce, then winked at us.

_We'll be fine, ya ken? That bastard Crowley won't know what's hit him if he comes our way!_

The other wolves growled their agreement and surrounded the tunnel entrance, crouched down on their haunches, eyes sharp, and ready for trouble.

As soon as we were underground, they would cover up the entrance and hide nearby. Scent wouldn't be a problem; being so close to pack ground, the air was saturated with thousands of combinations of werewolf pheromones.

But I stared a little fearfully at the underground tunnel. Never liked small, tight spaces. I was once buried alive under a pile of heavy rocks and nearly freaked the hell out from claustrophobia.

The door was around three feet of solid, consecrated iron, and in spite of the years, it would still have been a tough bastard to crack, even with my extensive lock-picking skills.

The tunnel was dark and dank, and smelled of rotten vegetation and long dead animals. Probably rodents.

I think I've seen more cheerful plague pits.

Seriously, anyone with Seasonal Affectiveness Disorder would have been ill advised to come down here.

Rats, perhaps disturbed by the noise of the rusted, creaking old combination lock being forced open, were skittering along the tunnel floor, making little splashes in the wet mud as they went.

Yeah, I was in hell.

Sire pushed the door open wider with his snout, and sniffed.

_Hmm. Just as I remembered. Last time I came down here was to oil the locks and hinges._

I just glared at him. _And when was that exactly? The American Civil War?_

Tobius shook his head and stepped inside.

_Not quite that long ago, but certainly the century before last if I recall accurately,_ he responded, either completely oblivious to my sarcasm or choosing to ignore it. Knowing him, it was both.

Actually, it wasn't as closed in as I had been dreading. The ceilings were high, and the tunnel itself was fairly wide.

_I guess you needed it like this to transport weapons and ammo, right? _I asked, curiously.

Sire gently bumped my shoulder, eyes glowing with approval. _Quite right._

Sam was staring around with a look of happy fascination on his furry face.

_You built this all by yourself? _he said, completely awestruck, and looked up at the ceiling. _Really?_

Tobius nodded. _Wasn't easy, trying to construct it in secret, let me tell you._

_No kidding!_

I followed Sam's gaze.

The tunnel walls and ceiling were made of large blocks of stone, probably the same stuff the pack grounds were surrounded with. Each one was perfectly shaped into a rectangle and tightly set in. It was all very neat and professional looking, and honestly, I was impressed. It would probably outlast most buildings constructed today using modern techniques.

Today's newly built houses will all crumble to dust in a few decades, but this tunnel will likely still be here.

I guess Sire picked up a lot of skills over the course of eight hundred years.

But other than that? It was fairly boring down there, especially after the first mile or two.

_C'mon, let's move, _I bumped against Sam, snarled at a few rats that dared to creep closer for a good look at us, and grinned smugly when the little bastards scurried off again.

Sire led the way, followed by Sam and then me, and we trekked along the tunnel, mostly in silence.

There really isn't much else to say about our underground journey. The tunnel ran for five miles in a straight line with a steady decline, then suddenly dipped down steeply, and ended at the pack wall foundations.

And boy did those foundations run deep!

_How long did this take you? _I asked Sire, who tilted his head in thought.

_About a year, maybe two,_ he pressed a large paw against the foundations and waited.

A muffled, clanking noise reached us through the stone wall and we all stood well back.

Dust rained down from a section of the wall, followed by more clanking. Then a large, grey stone, set at around average human head height, made a loud grating noise, slid all the way back, and then disappeared downwards, presumably behind the wall itself.

_Open Sesame! _Tobius declared excitedly, proving that even eight hundred year old werewolves can be reduced to the mentality of a six year old when under the influence of gadgets.

I rolled my eyes while Sam just looked fondly amused.

Tobius ignored us and leapt up into the gap, snorted at us and disappeared into the darkness on the other side, calling out _Come along, chop, chop! No time for dilly-dallying!_

There came a faint thump on the other side of the wall, and Sire called out to reassure us that he was fine.

_After you, _I grinned at Sam.

He didn't hesitate; obviously keen to find out where we would end up. Sam followed his grandfather up the wall and through the gap, eyes bright, tongue hanging out, and panting excitedly like the big, overgrown puppy he really is.

I heard his paws scrabbling on the stone surface, and then a happily exclaimed _Oh! I __**see**__ now!_

More scrabbling came from the gap, and Sam's black nose appeared, eyes twinkling green and blue with excitement.

_You'll never guess where this comes out, Dean!_

_Cess pit?_

Sam snorted indignantly. _Try again._

_Bottom of a wine cellar by any chance? _I asked, hopefully.

_Come see for yourself,_ he backed away and disappeared. There was another soft thump on the other side where he'd presumably jumped down to join Tobius.

It _was_ a cellar of sorts, but definitely not for wine. The tunnel ended at an underground archive facility for ancient scrolls and tomes, the kind that would have Bobby Singer chewing an arm off just to get at.

According to Sire, the original Dead Sea scrolls reside here. The _true _ones. Apparently, the ones we all know about are faked.

It was also rumoured that the last surviving scrolls of the ancient library of Alexandria had been brought here for safety and protection. A little charred, I'd imagine, given the damn huge fire that burnt the original library to a crisp.

This place was _huge_. Like, St Paul's Cathedral huge, with rows and rows of bookshelves stretching away into the distance and lining the walls from floor to ceiling. It made Hogwart's library look like a tiny garden shed.

_Won't it be obvious someone's been here?_ Sam asked while staring down at the paw prints he was leaving on the thick, dusty stone floor.

_No one ever comes down here, _Sire whispered, even though there was no need, especially in our heads. But the place had that kind of effect; it commanded instant respect, as though any unnecessary noise was a slight to all the ancient works that rested here.

_Let me guess,_ I muttered sarcastically. _Because you're the only who knows about it?_

_No, _Sire padded onwards, aiming for a large, wooden and iron door set in the corner of the scroll room. _But I am the only one with the knowledge to get in. Marcus felt it would serve to keep the archive safe if no one on the grounds knew the combination code. We couldn't have every man and his wolf traipsing in and out of here at will, disturbing the scrolls and ruining the texts with their oily fingers. So he entrusted that sacred code to me. And one day, _he turned his head briefly towards Sammy and me, _I will pass it on to the both of you._

_Wow! _Sam breathed, appreciatively.

_That __**is**__ pretty cool, huh? _I started to feel a little more excited about it, I'll admit. _So you're, like, The Librarian, or something?_

Tobius stopped and just looked at me, the expression on his face hinting that he might be inclined to change his mind about passing on important, top secret information after all.

_Hardly, _he answered dryly. _Do I look like Noah Wyle?_

I sat back on my haunches to lend his question some serious consideration.

_No,_ I said finally. _You're a lot hairier._

_Thank you, pup. So glad for the observation. Can we move on, please?_

As it turned out, the archives were right next to Sire's sleeping quarters, and came up just under a small laundry room through a hatch in the floor.

_This is for my own private use whenever I pay the pack a visit. No one else is allowed to come in here, by order of the Alpha. That's why this entire building remains reserved for me at all times._

So as soon as he relocked the entrance behind us, we headed straight inside his quarters to change and dress in fresh robes. There weren't many people about, and those who were, hurried about their duties, some carrying unstrung long bows, others quivers of arrows, or food, and muttering among themselves. No one noticed us; they were so intent on their own jobs.

When we got to Sire's quarters, we found our duffle bags all neatly lined up by the computer desk.

"That must mean…" I bounded over to the window and broke out into a broad grin. "There's my Baby!"

And she was. Just outside, under the window, sat a wonderful sight. Not a Buick, but the Impala, gleaming brightly as though freshly waxed.

"Told you they'd bring her in for you," said Tobius, pulling a pair of clean jeans from his duffle. "Looks like she's been spruced up a bit, too."

Sam grinned, and threw a tee-shirt my way. "And not a scratch on her," he paused to grab his worn hoodie and stared at it fondly for a few seconds before shrugging it on. "My old friend. How I've missed you!"

"It's great to be back in real clothes, ain't it?" I agreed.

"Hmm. It seems I have an email from Castiel," Tobius had sauntered over to the desk and parked himself in the swivel seat, and was now tapping away at the computer. "Sam? Would you mind taking a look at this for me? Looks like another encrypted message. Not sure why he would bother, given that Crowley's no longer on site."

But just as Sam took his place, there came a loud knocking at the door.

Without waiting for anyone to answer, Marcus barged in, a strained but happy smile on his face.

_No mentioning the whole 'underage' thing, boys, _Sire warned, silently, presumably having tuned his brother out of his thoughts very briefly. _Marcus has enough to deal with as it is, without a couple of young pups arguing against Pack law._

I huffed but nodded discreetly, while Sam's jaw clenched. Kid didn't look up, however, just carried on examining the email. No doubt he was still feeling guilty about attacking Marcus, never mind he was drugged up to the eyeballs on Sleepworm at the time.

"Good to have you all back, safely," Marcus was saying and looking each of us up and down, examining for injury. His sharp gaze soon landed on the mostly healed scar on the side of Sam's head.

"Did Crowley do that?" he barked out, sharply, but gently ran a hand along Sam's hairline, as if his touch could sooth what had already faded.

"Nah, it was a waterfall," Sam finally looked up and answered with a wry grin. "When we both took a swan dive off the top."

"Ah," the Alpha grinned back. "Yes, I know of that particular waterfall. I've come a cropper there myself a few times."

_Cropper? _I raised an eyebrow.

_Means he's also had a few accidents over the years at that waterfall,_ Tobius supplied, helpfully.

Sam blinked up at Marcus, eyes suddenly filled with sorrow. "Marcus, I…"

"I'll not be hearing any apologies from _you_ of all people, young pup," said Marcus quietly, voice stern but expression fond. He gently cupped my _brotherson's_ chin and stared him straight in the eye. "Morally speaking, you weren't even there. Crowley alone is responsible." He added, in a tone that brooked no argument, "Now let's hear no more of this."

Sam seemed a little overwhelmed, but Marcus just playfully ruffled his hair.

I think my feelings of admiration went through the roof for Uncle Marcus just then.

Sire cleared his throat, respectfully.

"We were just coming to find you. My boys have news of Crowley, in fact. Lucas and Cornelius of the Home Pack are outside the grounds, getting ready to defend. I should warn you, Crowley has already killed a few of Lucas' Pack in cold blood…"

Sam and I explained about Crowley's use of Sleepworm, how he could block Sam's skills, and control thought projection, of his Type One army and how we were ambushed in the forest.

Marcus nodded and breathed out a slow, calm breath, but his eyes told a different story. The Alpha was anything but calm. He was furious.

"Right, we must attend the War Council, fill them in, then continue with arrangements," Marcus said, brusquely. "Many of the families outside the walls are seeking shelter with us. They can all handle a longbow with quite some accomplished skill."

But we didn't even make it out of Sire's quarters before trouble broke out.

Castiel, with Sergeant Fisher and Captain Byrnes in tow, didn't bother knocking. They just strode in and reported straight to Marcus and Tobius.

"My apologies for the intrusion, brothers," said Castiel, abruptly. "But I'm afraid there has been an attack outside the front doors."

"What sort of attack?" Marcus demanded to know.

"My Lord, several families coming in from the outside were caught like sitting ducks on their way in," the Captain bowed his head slightly, his voice strong, though his English accent was slightly softer than Marcus. "They were fired upon by silver tipped arrows…" he hesitated, and we all saw the brief flash of sadness in his grey-green eyes.

It was only the second time I had met him, and the first time I had seen him in human form. He was a plain looking guy with ash blond hair, and looked barely out of his twenties. His tall, bulky figure was straight backed with the full pride of duty and rank, but all of us could see the burden of anger and sorrow weighing heavily on his shoulders.

"How many dead?" asked Marcus. His voice was deep, face stern, and upper lip curled in fury, as though he already knew the answer.

The Captain and Sergeant exchanged a pained look, before Byrnes dutifully answered his Alpha.

"All of them, my Lord," he murmured, swallowing hard, and his eyes filled with reluctant tears. "Men, women, pups… it was a massacre; over so fast, the poor bastards didn't stand a chance."

_**TBC...**_

_**Things are about to heat up as the battle commences, but are the packs properly prepared for what they are about to face?**_

_**You want to know what happens next? Then hit that review button for me...**_

_**Love ST xxx**_


	19. Chapter 19

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 19**

_**Now…**_

**Lucas suddenly sits up and stares at something out of shot. "They're here," he murmurs, then gets to his feet and walks away, motioning to his mate, Victoria.**

**Sam and Dean glance at each other, while the other wolves watch the Alpha's retreat expectantly.**

"**Arthur's with them," says Sam with a smile, and Dean nods.**

"**Yeah," he replies. "It'll be good to see the little tyke again."**

**A short while later, Lucas and Victoria reappear with a small, teenage boy clasped between them. The kid's limping slightly, despite his parents practically holding him up, and he ducks his head shyly when everyone makes a move to welcome him.**

"**Hey Arthur!" Dean lightly punches the boy on the shoulder. "Feeling any better, dude?"**

**Arthur blushes and nods. "Much better thanks," he says, quietly, but he beams at Sam and Dean, happily, and rubs his right thigh. "Just a little sore."**

**Sam nods. "Yeah, that's silver for you, huh?" he replies, and a look of sad understanding passes between them. "What you did was very brave, Arthur. Wish I could've seen it. We're all really proud of you."**

**The young pup ducks his head again, blushing furiously.**

"**Yes," the Alpha agrees, sternly, making a point. "It was _very_ brave to disobey a direct order from your Alpha!"**

**Victoria glares at Lucas and he takes the hint because he relaxes and smiles.**

"**But Sam is quite correct," gone is the stern Alpha. In his stead, the father wraps his son up in his arms, then lays a kiss on the kid's scalp. "We _are_ very proud of you. And I'm especially proud to call you _my son_."**

"**And so you should, you stubborn old bastard!" An authoritative voice booms across the camp from out of shot.**

**Tobius looks up at something beyond the camera, and grins from ear to ear.**

"**I was wondering when you two would show up," he says, and pours out fresh mead into two wooden mugs. "Sit yourselves down and we'll get you some food."**

"**You mean you haven't run out yet?" the voice is getting closer, until the newcomer appears in shot next to Tobius, his handsome face grinning just as widely as his brother's. "Miracles will never cease!"**

**Tobius shakes his head and laughs. "Just drink your mead and be quiet, Marcus."**

"**You see how he treats his brothers, Cas?" Marcus feigns shock and offence.**

**Another newcomer steps into shot, face serious, and looking terminally bewildered.**

"**Indeed," says Castiel, nods to Sam and Dean, and studies Tobius closely. There's a twinkle in his eye when he makes a suggestion. "I can call in the Sergeant-at-arms to arrest him if you wish, Alpha."**

"**Don't tempt me," Marcus growls, good-naturedly.**

"**You wouldn't," Tobius says, confidently. "And besides, this place is out of your jurisdiction."**

**Marcus swallows down a mouthful of mead then stares at his older brother.**

"**Perhaps, though I do have special reason for being here," he murmurs, then glances over at Dean and Sam. "This isn't just a social visit."**

**Tobius raises an eyebrow. "Oh really?"**

**The boys look worried and there's a strained silence around the camp.**

"**But enough of that," the Alpha of the Canadian Pack beams brightly round at everyone. "We'll talk about it later." **

**He glances over at the camera. "Ah, this would be Dean's famous video journal I've been hearing so much about."**

"**Yeah, we were recording the details of everything that's happened," Sam explains quietly, then looks down at his hands, fingers fiddling nervously in his lap. "I hope that's ok."**

**Marcus watches Sam for a moment, before nodding. "Yes, that's probably a good thing. It should be remembered and passed on, not just as part of pack history, but of _Were_ history. The ones who follow us have a right to know what happened. And, of course, we must honour our dead."**

**He waves a hand towards the camera. "So, please. Do carry on."**

**Dean nods slowly. "In that case…"**

_**Then…**_

To say we were stunned was an understatement, but I had the feeling the day was gonna be full of nasty surprises...

"This also _arrived_ at the guardhouse," Castiel added, and the reason for the emphasis on 'arrived' became apparent when he held out a torn piece of parchment impaled by a silver tipped, blood stained arrow. "It took out young Petersen. He was a new recruit, fresh out of training and ordered to stay in the guardhouse for observation only, which, as you know, is supposed to be protected by specially reinforced glass."

From the narrowed eyes and tense shoulders Marcus was obviously fuming, but outwardly he remained calm and in control.

"What do you mean _supposed to be_?"

Fisher spoke up at this point. "My Lord, Crowley ordered the glass to be replaced last month. He claimed it was faulty so he arranged for an outside contractor to come in and change it."

Gone was calm and in control, because I honestly thought Marcus was going to hit the roof.

"_What?_" he roared.

Castiel smiled, grimly. "The Sergeant here is in no way to blame for this. He was only following Crowley's orders, and he was not aware that the wrong type of glass had been fitted."

Call me paranoid here, boys and girls, but I was guessing this was no _mistake._

Marcus took a deep breath and inclined his head in acknowledgment, but gestured for the parchment.

Castiel gently removed the arrow and passed it over.

Unfurling the message, Marcus raised an eyebrow then showed it to Tobius, who shook his head in disgust.

"Yes, that's Crowley's sick sense of humour all over," he muttered, angrily. "And he always was terrible at rhyming poetry."

I pulled it out of his grasp and read it out loud.

_Hey diddle diddle,_

_The pup was in the middle._

_No way could I miss that shot._

_Take cover young fools,_

_Or I'll run you through too,_

_By silver arrow or not._

"…Pup was in the middle…" I glanced around at everyone's pale, grim faces. "What that does that mean?"

The Captain cleared his throat. "It refers to where Petersen was standing when he was hit: inside the guardhouse, in front and centre of the window."

My eyes widened.

I knew for a fact that the tree line began around six hundred metres out from the walls. There wouldn't be much cover for anyone trying a direct attack, and for a longbow to manage that kind of range effectively was astounding.

"So it wasn't just a lucky shot," Sam whispered, fearfully.

"And I have the unfortunate duty of explaining to Petersen's family why we lost him on his first watch," said Marcus, slowly, eyes twitching with remorse and anger.

He glared at the parchment for a moment.

"Right, let's get to the walls," he said and nodded to Tobius. "We need some damage control."

"Just one thing," said Castiel, apologetically. "I don't suppose you managed to solve that email I sent you."

I shook my head. "Sam was working on it when you turned up. So far we've found nothing."

"Why did you encrypt it?" asked Sam. "If Crowley isn't here…"

"It's not encrypted," said Castiel, tonelessly. "It is the exact email I received from Giuseppe's cell phone the day he disappeared. But I do have reason to believe there is important information contained in that message somehow."

Sam nodded, thoughtfully. "Just give me a little longer."

"Yeah," I said, resolved to stay behind with Sam. "We'll come find you as soon as we know anything."

"Call my cell…" Sire began, but I stopped him right there.

"You're gonna have your hands full as it is," I explained. "Whether you're fully wolfed out on the battlefield or handling a longbow from the top of the walls, last thing you'll have time for is to answer the goddamned phone."

Sam and I looked like the picture of innocence, while Tobius regarded us both with narrowed eyes. He was clearly questioning our motives.

"Look, you don't want us involved in the fighting, I get that," I said, reasonably. "But if we find something in that message, something that could turn the whole tide of this battle, you'd want to know sooner rather than later, right?"

Before anyone could answer, a loud explosion ripped through the grounds, shattering what little peace and quiet was left in the wake of battle preparations. An instant later, we heard terrified screams, whimpers of pain, the sound of feet running and someone yelling for help.

Galvanised into action, Tobius, Marcus, Castiel, the Captain and the Sergeant sprinted outside, with Sam and I following on.

"Jesus Christ!" whispered Marcus, green, glowing eyes wide with horror.

A large chunk of the upper south wall was gone, leaving a jagged section of lower wall. Large lumps of stone littered the base and several poor souls were trapped underneath, struggling to get free. But some had been less lucky.

"This is bad," Sam whispered, taking in the carnage.

A wolfed out leg, still twitching, lay in a pool of blood to our left, and nearby lay the unfortunate owner's head, the snout brutally smashed in and half the skull missing. No doubt the poor wolf had been in the direct path of whatever missile had taken down the upper wall.

A clearly pregnant she-wolf limped over, whining, whimpering, and sniffing at the remains.

When she began howling the sad song of the Lost, there was no doubt in my mind that this was the dead wolf's mate.

Sam paled, turned his gaze away and ran to help the survivors, but we'd all seen his sad, watery eyes glowing with empathy.

Once the initial shock had passed, a fairly well organised chain of command formed up pretty quickly. Guards armed with longbows took up position behind the wall and began firing at will over the top. Civilians, not involved in rescuing the trapped and injured, fetched and carried quivers of arrows.

In the distance, we could see the red hair of the doc as he called out instructions and organised stretcher bearers. It looked like it was going to be a busy day for the wolf-doctor.

This was just the first explosion, and it wasn't going to be the last…

Something zipped towards us and passed overhead trailing smoke, and another huge explosion took out a large section of a nearby building. We ducked as best we could, escaping with minor cuts and bruises from falling masonry bouncing off our heads and shoulders.

"Over here!" Sam called out, and I spied him trying to free one of the trapped wolves over by the damaged section of wall. "I need some help!"

I raced over to assist the fallen and injured, and the two Alphas began assessing the situation. Busy though we were, we got the distinct impression Tobius and Marcus weren't happy.

"Cannon!" yelled Tobius, furiously. "How the bloody hell did Crowley get hold of cannon?"

Well, that sure explained why it took so long before...

Another ball of smoke and flames dealt with the rose garden. Most of the marble statues were no more and the brass globe, with its wolves dancing around the equator, had cracked into thousands of pieces.

Yeah. Unlike modern siege weapons, cannon take a while to prepare and reload between hits.

"Let me guess," Marcus continued, sarcastically, obviously in a bit of a snit. "When Crowley signed it out of the armoury for that lecture a few weeks back, he didn't bother returning it. Am I Right?"

Captain Byrnes nodded, stiffly, still standing smartly to attention while the world around him was falling to bits.

"Yes sir," he explained, miserably, voice just audible over all the noise. "Crowley claimed the University of Vancouver asked to keep it a little longer as part of their history display. He approved the request and claimed to take full responsibility for it."

"I'll just bet he did, the little rat!" Tobius scowled angrily and Castiel managed to do a great impression of someone rolling their eyes, without _actually_ rolling his eyes_._

By the sounds of things, another section of wall a little further on had taken a hit, and there was someone yelling about a fight going on by the rear gates.

Cornelius of the Home Pack had been sent there by his Alpha, and was, no doubt, right in the thick of that skirmish. I hoped to God he was ok.

Sam's suddenly stopped what he was doing and cast a worried glance my way.

_Hey, he'll be fine, Sammy._

Though I doubted it very much.

_Hope you're right, dude. _

But he didn't sound any more hopeful than I felt.

"We must get these people free from the rubble," said Marcus, resignedly. "But first I need volunteers to venture out and sabotage that damn cannon. I think the lower wall will hold for now, even if it takes another direct hit, but we must move fast."

The lower wall was at least twice as thick as the upper, but though the breached section of wall was still too tall for anyone to climb, a couple more hits from cannon and we might as well just fling open the main gates to welcome Crowley with a glass of champagne, chilled caviar and a complimentary massage.

At Marcus' request for volunteers, several hands immediately went up, and Tobius automatically grabbed two of them and wrenched them down.

"Not a chance, boys," he murmured in our ears.

Sam huffed and out came his bitch face, while I just sighed and nodded.

"That's decided then," Marcus smiled grimly, and we all ducked when another missile came hurtling over the wall. "Captain Byrnes and Sergeant Fisher, take another two NLSUs with you. Make sure you report straight to me on your return."

The elected sabotage team didn't waste any time. The Captain broke into a run, with the big Sergeant at his side, the two of them wolfing out and shedding their clothes along the way.

_Corporals Hollis and Sandway, follow us if you want some fun! _Fisher called out.

Two large wolves appeared from behind a large pile of rubble and galloped on after them, one a huge female with black and silver fur, the other a medium sized male with deep, grey-blue fur. Both wore eager grins.

_I'm up for some fun, alright! _the she-wolf grumbled.

_Just show me the way, Sarge! _the other howled.

"Those two do enjoy their playtime," said Marcus, watching them with a fond smile, until all four disappeared out of sight.

We stuck around a little longer to help the injured but it became pretty clear that, in spite of all the chaos, the guards and Dave had the rescue under control.

"There's little more you can do here," the Doc told us when we asked if he needed our help. "But I thank you for the offer, lads."

Besides, we had work to do all of our own, as it turned out.

"Right, let's go," Marcus announced, authoritatively. "You can access your email account from my quarters, and it'll be safer there."

Just as he spoke, a smoking cannonball rocketed over the wall and smashed into Sire's sleeping quarters, practically demolishing the entire building in one fell swoop. Tobius spared the ruins one, small, sad glance, shook his head and let it go.

Miraculously, Baby hadn't yet been touched, and I was itching to grab my Sire and _brotherson_, lock them both inside the car and haul ass out of Canada as fast as I could.

"How will the Captain and his team leave the grounds without anyone from the other side seeing them?" asked Sam, curiously, as we ran for cover.

Another ball of flames erupted over the wall at us and piled into the building next door, which appeared to be some kind of music room. The people gathering to help the trapped and injured were in turn pelted by flying stone, rock, at least three violins and a trumpet.

"There's a passageway in the wine cellar underneath the kitchens," Marcus called back to him. "Only large enough to take one person at a time in wolf form, so it's no use as a mass escape route. It leads under the walls and comes out several miles away."

Sam's eyes widened and I resisted the urge to turn and stare at Tobius when he started coughing.

Marcus seemed to be leading us towards the Council Chambers, all of us dodging falling masonry and keeping out of the line of fire as best we could.

"And how many know about this tunnel?" I inquired, barely managing to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

Marcus shrugged. "Only the NLSU."

A nearby explosion showered us with timber and stone chips.

"So, Crowley knows?" I prompted.

"Oh yes," Marcus grinned. "But it's a labyrinth down there, with many twists, forks and turns. Getting out isn't a problem. It's an easy route to follow, but once you're out, there's no getting back by that route unless you have been carefully watching which of all the tunnels you emerged from at each junction along the way."

"And there's no accessing the tunnel from the other end," added Castiel. "Not without triggering a booby-trap."

A group of non-lunars hurried on by us, carrying hosepipes and extinguishers, presumably to try and put out some of the fires that had sprung up from the wrecked buildings.

I raised an eyebrow. "Booby-trap?"

"A little thing called a 'controlled cave-in' at each individual entrance," said Marcus, obviously amused by my line of questioning. "Your Sire designed it last century, in fact. Quite lethal."

I nodded and smiled slyly at Tobius, keeping pace with him easily.

"Well, ain't you just the Da Vinci of modern Canada."

It certainly explained how he managed to keep people distracted during the construction of his own little project.

Tobius bowed his head slightly, mouth twitching. "Not quite, but I thank you for the compliment."

Sam looked troubled, in spite of the brief moment of levity. "Supposing Crowley's keeping all the entrances under watch," he said, worriedly, glancing around as we moved quickly through the chaos. "He could easily set up an ambush."

Tobius shook his head, confidently, speeding up and we were forced to match him. "There are many exits to that tunnel, all scattered around the forest and river banks. I don't believe he'd waste his time trying to guard all of them. Just the ones nearest the wall, perhaps, and the Captain won't choose to emerge from the obvious exits."

"Crowley needs all the wolf-power he can get," Castiel confirmed, with his usual lack of emotion, but his eyes kept scanning our surroundings.

"Besides, it'd take more than a pack of poorly trained Type One scum to best my Captain and his squad," said Marcus, without a trace of modesty. His muscles pumped as we sped up yet again. Time was of the essence. "You mark my words, young Sam. They'll get the job done. Crowley won't know a thing about it."

His confidence was inspiring, and even Sam appeared to relax a little.

The Council Chambers loomed ahead, completely undamaged. I could only assume that it was far out of cannon range. There was a noticeable lack of guards, unlike the last time we were brought here for Sam's 'trial'. Presumably, they had all been called to arms, and when I glanced at the distant main gates I spotted around two squads of one hundred guards, each formed up in ranks of three, partially wolfed out, their thick muscular hind legs set and paws firmly planted. It was easy to see why this form had been chosen: their upper bodies were human and their wolf legs added greater strength and stability. The crossbows had been ditched and replaced with the less accurate long bows, all nocked with silver tipped arrows and fully drawn. But accuracy wasn't the ticket, here. Speed, power, range and maximum devastation were more important at this stage of the game.

Distantly, we all heard an authoritative voice scream out _"Take aim!" _followed by _"Fire at will!"_

The longbows let loose with a single loud _sproing! _And two hundred silver missiles were launched over the iron gates.

"Sire, what about Baby?" I whispered and nudged Tobius.

Tobius sighed but didn't bother to argue. "She'll be taken care of, ok? I promise. Now…" he pointed to the Council Chambers. "Get inside. The both of you!"

Sam and I were herded along the hallway with all the Greek statues, and passed the door to the courtroom. At the end of the hallway was a stone, spiral stairwell. It was so narrow that we had to take the stairs in single file, with Sam occasionally bumping his head on the stone ceiling.

I guess it was built that way to make it easier to defend during a direct assault. Hand to hand combat would prove a lethal little bitch in such close quarters, especially for the invading force.

Plus, it was a long, long, _long _way up, and I was getting kind of dizzy from going round and round in circles.

We were all silent as we emerged into an oak panelled room filled with books, leather sofas surrounding a large, stone hearth with a log fire blazing away, and a solid oak bar with a vast selection of fine wines and brandy. It was a little like Tobius quarters but on a grander, much larger scale, and decorated in ancient weapons, wolf paintings, and a particularly stunning set of silver tipped, crossed spears over the fireplace.

Sam didn't wait to be asked, just sat down at a huge oak desk near the back of the room, and started tapping away at a keyboard, eyes fixed firmly on the flat screen monitor. I knew he was gone for now, deeply immersed in his task and it would do no one any favours to disturb him.

His glowing blue-green eyes narrowed at the screen and I bit back a smile. Kid was so focussed, determined to crack that email, and I tried hard to imagine what could have been hidden inside it.

Castiel had taken up his usual guard post by the door to the quarters, but this time he stayed inside the room.

He nodded to me when I stared at him curiously.

_If the enemy makes it this far then we're screwed anyway,_ he intoned, deadpan._ I might as well stay where it's nice and warm, closest to the brandy, and where I can poke at them with a big stick if they try to get through the door._

At that, he grinned and held something out. I laughed softly.

Somehow, Castiel had crossed the room _completely unnoticed _and removed one of the silver-tipped spears from over the fireplace.

It was at this point that I _had_ noticed something. Cannon fire had ceased... but for how long? Could it be on the move, being readied to strike at another section of wall?

Or could the Captain have already intercepted cannon and destroyed its squad?

There was a tall set of French windows that lead onto a balcony, and when I stepped outside my eyes widened with awe and horror.

"Guys, I think you should see this," I called out.

I was joined instantly by Tobius, Castiel and Marcus, all crowding round me.

From way up here, it was possible to see a bird's eye view of the wall on either side of the main gates. I realised that there were actually small, inconspicuous battlements right at the top, where small figures fired crossbow bolts through battlement slits in the stone. Too many bodies were strewn about, their blood stark red against the grey stone where the unlucky archers had been cut down by enemy fire.

On the enemy side of the wall I could make out a long row of shadowy figures sheltered just inside the tree line, and volley upon volley of silver arrows shot out at random intervals, their arcs sailing high up into the walls. Some just harmlessly clipped the top and fell away, but it was the ones that made it over that caused the devastation.

The top of the wall was the scene of a massacre, and the wall-sergeant-at-arms, a handsome she-wolf, who looked desperate and weary even from this distance, called a reluctant retreat. She had a terrible wound in her shoulder, sliced deep down to the bone and streaming with blood, yet her people were clearly the sergeant's main priority. She began pulling them off the walls as fast as she could, making sure not to leave a single living soul behind.

But all was not lost. Another fresh troop of archers marched into view from a set of steps that disappeared down into the walls.

_That's where most of the armoury is kept, just underneath,_ Marcus remarked, having followed my gaze.

The female wall-sergeant, proudly, and with her head held high, relinquished command to the newcomers, and led her weary guards off the walls, some slumped with grief and defeat, others limping and angry.

The new troop commander set to work immediately, and more crossbow bolts were whistling their way into the trees.

Now that I had seen the enemy, I could just make out their own fallen and injured. But the Type Ones were tough and determined. Our crossbow accuracy and power was greatly diminished by the sheer distance, and the Type One army was using that to their advantage.

They ignored their dead, and viciously kicked the wounded aside. More werewolves fell, and yet more stepped up to take their place, swiftly arming and aiming their longbows like automatons.

We had clearly underestimated enemy numbers, and it was a grave mistake for which the Canadian Pack would pay a heavy price.

"Where in hell did Crowley get so many?" I wondered aloud.

"My guess is, he's been turning them," Tobius replied, voice soft but angry. "He took innocent humans or strays and turned them into Type Ones."

"And _voila_," Marcus remarked, bitterly. "His very own tough, dispensable army."

"And it's something we should have thought of," said Castiel, solemn but self-berating.

Somewhere in there I heard the _I _instead of the _We _in his statement_._ And, being a pack beta, I understood that feeling well. And I also understood that not only was this not the time or place for comfort, but that it would never work on him, not coming from me. The only person who could absolve Castiel of his guilt was his alpha.

Watching the battle raging below, I marvelled at the range on those things, a combination of fine craftsmanship and sheer werewolf strength. A flight arrow of a professional longbow in the time of Edward III was recorded at an extraordinary 400 yards... but it maintained poor accuracy.

The thing to remember about the English Longbow? It could have great accuracy _or_ long range: sadly, not both at once.

Our longbows behind the gates were cutting into the enemy lines with speedy efficiency, but it wouldn't be enough to save the crossbow troops on top of the wall.

"Sire, the archers," I began, anxiously, realising we were going to witness yet another massacre.

"This is only the start of it, Dean," said Tobius, sadly. "Missouri tried shielding them, but Crowley is blocking her efforts. And, unless she can find a way of upping the ante, as it were, no doubt he will block anything Sam throws at them, too. The real fun begins when everyone runs out of ammo, and we resort to unarmed combat."

Marcus nodded and stared at his archers, and I saw his wince when three were slaughtered outright during a rain of enemy arrows. The guy was drowning in a pool of guilt deeper than his Beta's.

"They held Crowley's motley crew back, perhaps for long enough," he looked across at Tobius. "We must honour their sacrifice by making good use of the time they have bought us."

Tobius dipped his head briefly. "Indeed, brother."

The two Alphas turned to leave, but something was happening down below, outside the gates. To my surprise, Crowley had emerged from the trees, and he was dragging another wolf with him.

I could only guess that he must have abandoned the hunt for Sam and me, and just headed straight back.

_Call off your dogs, Marcus. We need to talk._

Crowley's smugness was all too evident when the ceasefire was called and instantly obeyed.

_I have one of your mutts here, brother, _Crowley informed us all. _I'm sure you really don't want me to plunge this arrow into his neck. That would be a very slow and painful way for such a fine, gallant gentleman to die._

I recognised the hostage. It was Captain Byrnes. Long streaks of blood had dried on his face, and though I couldn't see his eyes too well from the balcony, I could swear there was something wrong with them.

_Let him go Crowley,_ Marcus growled a warning.

_I will, _said Crowley, taking obvious pleasure in pressing the silver tip of an arrow against the Captain's skin. Oddly, the Captain didn't even flinch, just stared straight ahead. _So long as you open the gates with the guarantee of no further hostilities._

_Not a chance! _Tobius snapped_._

_Are you absolutely sure about that? _I could make out Crowley's grin even from that distance.

He didn't wait for an answer, just plunged the arrow into Byrne's neck and stepped away. The Captain didn't flinch or move, just stood there blinking slowly, blood pouring from his jugular.

_I don't reckon he's got long before the silver reaches his heart and he dies,_ Crowley actually chuckled, the bastard. _You'll open those gates before then, if only to rescue him._

The two Alphas once again made for the doorway and I heard them clambering down the long flights of steps, Castiel on their heels as usual.

They were heading for the walls.

As I turned to follow them, Sam stood up behind the desk, visibly shaking.

"I've got something," he whispered, eyes wide and angry.

_**TBC...**_

_**So what has he got?**_

_**Hmmm.**_

_**Thank you for your wonderful reviews. **_

_**Been tired from too many crap shifts, and so I thought you guys would prefer an update instead of a reply. **_

_**But, some of you are slacking in your reviews BIG time.**_

_**I'm a busy person, too. Yeah?**_

_**But when you're provided with free entertainment, I don't think a review is too much to ask in return.**_

_**So, hit that keyboard and be nice to me!**_

_**Love ST xxx**_


	20. Chapter 20

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 20**

_**Now…**_

**It's full on night, once again.**

**The rest of the camp is deserted; Tobius' cabin in the background is dark and silent.**

**Sam rests his chin on his knees and stares into the camp fire, while Dean throws on another couple of logs. The flames flare and dance, casting shadows across Sam's face.**

"**Everyone's gone out on a hunt," says Dean, leaning back on his elbows. "I thought I'd stay here and relax." **

**He yawns and stretches, but the action seems a little put on.**

**Sam snorts. "Dean, I know you've been dying to go on a hunt, and I'm perfectly ok here with the pups. See?" he looks down at the two fur balls of Matthew and Logan, and a slightly larger, older looking pup curled up around them both. "They're asleep. Arthur's keeping them warm."**

**Dean shrugs. "It's not that. I just wanna get the next journal entry out before they all return."**

**There's a slight snort and a grunt from nearby, then Bobby Singer rolls over in his sleep, muttering something unintelligible.**

**Sam smiles, knowingly. "Ok, but don't blame me if you miss out on all the fun just because I can't go hunting yet."**

**Dean's expression is wry when he looks into the camera lens. **

"**See what I have to put up with?" he smacks Sam lightly upside the head. "You ungrateful bitch! Blessed with my scintillating, _entertaining_ company, and all you can do is complain?"**

**Sam laughs softly. "Ok, ok! I give in. Just… huh," he shakes his head and his smile turns rueful. "Don't let what happened hold you back, Dean. It wasn't your fault."**

**Dean stares at him, sadly. "Yes. It was."**

**Sam rolls his eyes. "No it _wasn't!_ God! You're so stubborn I could just…"**

"**Oh, _I'm_ the stubborn one…" Dean begins, but is interrupted by another inelegant snort.**

**They both laugh when Bobby is heard muttering "bad as each other" and "Idgits!"**

**They sit there in silence, until Bobby rolls over again and opens one eye to glare at them.**

"**Well? Don't just sit there, for Christ sake! Get on with it!"**

_**Then…**_

"Dude, you ok?" I grabbed his shoulder, concerned at how fast the blood was draining from his face.

"I've cracked the code, Dean," he rasped out. "It's an encrypted video message."

When he fully turned to face me, it wasn't just anger in his eyes. There was a good deal of fear.

"Cut a long story short, that Giuseppe guy?" he licked his lips when I nodded. "He stumbled upon a secret meeting one night a few months back, in some side alley of a bar. When he realised who it was and what was being said, he used his cell phone camera to video it. Then, as we now know, he emailed the video to Castiel. We can assume that he was discovered and murdered shortly afterwards, and maybe his phone was destroyed or lost."

"Ok," I stared at him, worriedly. Something had Sam spooked real badly. "Go on."

Sam dropped his chin and took a deep breath before looking up at me again.

"It was a video of Crowley," he spoke slow, as though having trouble getting the words passed his throat. "It becomes clear that he is talking to John… or rather a human _possessed_ by John Winchester. Dean…" Sam shook his head, blinking in shock.

"Sammy, what is it?" But I had a feeling I knew what he was going to say.

"They were making a deal. John would help Crowley take over the Canadian Pack, if Crowley managed to get hold of us," Sam bit into his trembling lower lip. "All _three _of us. You, me _and_ Tobius."

Well, not to shit on Sam's mournful parade or anything, but we _had_ already kind of guessed something along those lines a while back.

"Sam, out with it," I demanded. Poor kid seemed like he was in shock, but I needed him to talk to me, and fast.

Sam blinked and began again.

"Crowley figured it out," he answered, breathlessly, on the verge of panic or an explosion, maybe. "How to use Sleepworm to allow werewolf possession by a demon." He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, obviously trying to calm himself.

Sam suddenly smiled grimly.

"Wanna know what else?"

"Ok…" I nodded and gestured for him to continue.

Then Sam dropped the bomb.

"Crowley has been harbouring John inside him all this time, through _everything,_" Sam gazed at me, eyes moist and angry, nostrils flaring. "He's been watching us, toying with us, _laughing at us!"_

Sam turned and, with a loud roar of fury, smashed his fist into the heavy oak desk. It didn't leave a scratch on the wood, but Sam's knuckles spurted with blood.

For a moment I did nothing, just stood there in deep shock.

John had been with us this whole time? Right from the moment Sam was kidnapped?

I felt sick. None of this made sense. How did Crowley enter pack grounds with a demon riding him? The place was littered with protection symbols, not to mention the iron devil's trap embedded under the main entrance.

"Sammy, just chill out," I pushed him back into the desk chair and crouched down beside him, gesturing to the computer monitor. "Now show me the video."

And there it was, laid bare.

The screen was a little grainy from poor lighting, and shaky, as though the guy holding the phone was scared out of his mind, and he probably was.

_Crowley's face appeared under a dim street light in some dark alley. Dumpsters lined the grimy walls, lids half open and filled to bursting with garbage._

_Crowley grimaced and stepped cautiously forward._

"_Did we really have to meet here?" he murmured with disgust, and gestured to his suit jacket. "This **is** Armani, ya know!"_

All the hairs on the back on my neck stood on end when a voice out-of-shot replied, quietly:

"_I kind of like it,"_

The voice itself wasn't familiar, but I knew who it was straight away.

"_In fact, I met my destiny in an alley just like this, long ago."_

I nearly gulped at the hard edge John's new voice suddenly took on. He was referring to his own death by Tobius' jaws.

Revenge might not have been the sole motivator for John but, judging by that statement, it was definitely on his agenda. And that wasn't even the downright, shit-your-pants, quake-in-your-boots interesting part.

Upshot of their conversation was this.

John contacted Crowley once he picked up on the use of Sleepworm topside. Remember that Sleepworm, when put to use, lights up the occult world like a beacon, and attracts demons?

Imagine John's glee when he realised who was using it. A turncoat and traitor to his own pack, an organiser of illegal fight arenas, and brother to the guy who had 'stolen' his kids?

It must have been like all his birthdays and Christmases came at once.

They'd arranged to meet outside the walls because demons couldn't enter pack grounds. After some discussion, they soon struck a deal.

John would help Crowley become alpha to one of the most powerful packs in the world, in exchange for a little help with his own _family_ issues.

Crowley might have been vain as hell, but he wasn't stupid. He wouldn't agree to anything until it had been fully established just what degree of control he would have over his own body while possessed by John.

Here comes the turning point.

John admitted that a Type One had pretty much full control, but a Type Two had very little if any.

Naturally, Crowley leapt on that one like a Rottweiler in heat and demanded the means and knowledge to become a Type One _before_ allowing John in.

Smart guy.

As for the control issue? Well, it all came down to emotions.

Humans are easily possessed by demons, partly due to their general, physical make-up, but also due to their humanity. Demons are attracted to good people – as the saying goes: opposites attract - but especially the highly emotional. High emotions make you guys especially prone to possession, and thus easily manipulated and controlled.

Type Twos are compassionate creatures, and hold a great respect for life. We are emotional, affectionate and show our love willingly. So, although they can't possess us without the use of Sleepworm, once it's done a demon can control a Type Two so easily it's almost embarrassing.

All because of our emotions.

Type Ones on the other hand…

You get the picture, right?

So, John tipped off Crowley that becoming a Type One would be a really good fucking idea and, in exchange, Crowley could get John onto pack grounds.

This was the genius part:

Sleepworm spirits are only _half_-demon, right? They're only _ghosts_ at that stage. Which was why Sleepworm was even allowed on pack grounds in the first place, and why Sam was able to enter when I carried him through the entrance on our arrival.

Now here's the kicker: that stuff had eventually been altered enough to actually _shield_ a fully fledged demon from all those carefully constructed devil's traps and protection symbols at the pack gates.

So, for Crowley, it was all plain sailing. He'd needed the fight club to get hold of the Sleepworm drug and the means to experiment with it. The kidnapped Type Twos were perfect guinea pigs for his purposes, but when John tracked him down and gave him a little more information, Crowley realised he was on to something.

Using Sleepworm, he transformed into a Type One and allowed John to hop on board.

It was perfect. Since Crowley had full control, John couldn't renege on the deal by either smoking out of his werewolf meatsuit, or by killing us at any given opportunity because Crowley stopped him. He also couldn't call for any kind of demonic backup while under Crowley's control.

Crowley had needed us alive to carry out his own plans, and he wasn't going to allow John to screw that up. Even out in the forest, when we pursued him, Crowley was happy enough to kill Sam but not me. By that point, he'd only needed one of us alive and it appeared that Sam was expendable to both non-lunar and demon alike, probably because Crowley was worried his powers might become too much of a threat.

Sam had already proved too difficult to handle, after all. I secretly suspected that an attempt was made to latch John onto Sam during his captivity, but it must have failed spectacularly, so they resorted to an overdose of ordinary Sleepworm and used him to try and assassinate Marcus that way.

Was that resistance due to Sam's powers? Or his stubborn nature?

Probably both.

But, so far, no one had gotten what they wanted out of this deal. The doors to pack grounds were holding firm and the Canadian Pack Alpha was refusing to give in. It was virtually a stale mate so the big question was: what did Crowley plan on doing to shake things up a little?

It seemed Sam had that covered.

"Dean," he said, urgently, and rising to his feet. "I think I know what he's playing at. He's found someone else, someone the pack trusts in order to get John inside the grounds."

"Shit, the Captain!" I'd _known_ something was different about the guard's eyes, especially when he stood there so passively while threatened by Crowley's silver arrow. I'd put it down to injury or shock. "We gotta get down there and stop Marcus from letting him back inside."

"If John gets inside the pack grounds in a Type Two meatsuit," Sam replied, nodding quickly, "he'll betray his deal with Crowley."

"Oh, you can pretty much bet on that," I agreed bitterly, as we raced out of the room and headed downwards, taking two stairs at a time.

Combining his demonic powers with the strength of a controllable werewolf would make John one lethal sonofabitch. Once he was done with Sam and me, he would break all the protection seals, invite his little demon buddies to come play, and either possess or lay waste to the entire pack.

As it turned out, I was badly, desperately, _stupidly_ wrong about something.

We fell hook line and sinker for a _very_ nasty trick.

By the time we left the Council Chambers building, Tobius and Marcus were atop the wall by the main doors. From down below we couldn't see a damn thing, but a set of guards appeared to be preparing to open up the grounds.

_No, don't do that!_ I called out, as Sam and I sprinted towards them. _Don't open the doors!_

But the guards carried on as though they hadn't even heard us.

"The Type One's have blocked our thought projections," Sam panted out loud.

"Hey!" I yelled out at the top of my lungs to the guards. "Keep the doors closed! It's _not_ the Captain!"

One of the guards, a young corporal, squinted over at me when he heard me shout, but I could tell by the confusion on his face that he hadn't heard me correctly.

"What?" he yelled back, then turned and started walking towards us.

"I said _don't open the doors… that guy out there?_" I repeated, desperately._ "He's possessed!"_

The corporal stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at me, but to his credit he didn't question or argue, just about faced in one smooth movement, and screamed out the order.

"Guards, stand _down!"_

I guess being the Duke of Normandy's son carried some perks.

But the soft, whirring noise of machinery started up, indicating that the doors were about to open, regardless.

"Already activated, Corp!" the operator called back, helplessly. "I've thrown it into reverse but, now the locking mechanisms have been disengaged by the mainframe, it's too late!"

The doors clunked against each other for a few moments, then began to move. Daylight soon appeared down the middle where the two huge doors met. Just a slither at first, but then it grew as the mechanism got to work and picked up momentum.

"What's going on?" said Marcus, suddenly appearing from nowhere.

Next to him, Tobius and Castiel emerged from a hidden passage in the walls. "What's all the shouting about?" Sire frowned at us both, worriedly.

"It's Captain Byrnes," said Sam, anxiously. "We think he's possessed by John Winchester. Crowley needed to use a trusted officer to get inside the grounds…"

"What?" Tobius exclaimed.

"That encrypted video message explains it all," Sam replied and tossed his cell phone to Castiel. "I've uploaded it for you guys. Take a look."

The three senior non-lunars crowded round the cell phone, while Sam and I assessed the doors.

Already, there was a gap almost wide enough to admit a small person, if they held their breath, pulled in their stomachs and _squeezed._ But the doors weren't moving as fast as before, and this was because some of the guards were physically pushing on them. Sam and I, amidst nods and grunts of thanks from the other guards, immediately joined in and put our shoulders to it.

Our efforts weren't entirely wasted. The mechanism began to protest, smoke pouring out from huge ventilation shafts along the walls, and the once quiet, whirring noise now sounded like an angry bull elephant with the runs.

Still, the doors remained stubbornly persistent and continued to open, but in slow, jerky movements. It looked like it was coming open, whether we liked it or not.

"Try the manual override!" bellowed the corporal, on the verge of panicking. "Do _not_ allow those doors to open any further!"

Castiel, Tobius and Marcus had joined the team on the other door, backs against it, heels dug in and heaving with all their might.

"The Manual override hasn't been used in centuries," Castiel panted and winced when the doors shuddered against its two opposing forces. "And guess who was responsible for keeping it maintained?" he added, with an unusual hint of sarcasm.

Marcus' head thunked back against the door in frustration. "Oh, you _are _taking the piss now…"

Tobius growled and dug his heels in further. "Bloody Crowley. First the sodding guard window, now this!"

Sam and I watched on as a couple of the guards scrambled to obey the corporal's order. There was a small hatchway built into the wall right by the doors, and our hearts sank when it was forced open to reveal…

"It won't work, Corp!" the guard explained. "Some bastard's sabotaged it… see?"

The old mechanism had indeed been tampered with. Though it was in surprisingly good condition and without a speck of rust, it was an old fashioned design and easily accessed by anyone.

_Some_one (no prizes for guessing who) had jammed a crow bar into the wheel and damaged the cogs beyond repair.

There was no way the doors could be closed again.

We pushed and fought and held on as long as we could, but now there was enough of a gap to allow two people in side by side. And judging by the battle howls coming from the enemy side of the walls, Crowley's battalions were about to take full advantage.

We felt it when they hit. A whole line of Type One's charged the Pack doors, thudding into the wood and pushing back against us. We were no match for them, especially when four of the enemy slipped inside through the growing gap, and attacked. It was a bold yet cunning move on their part because several of our guards trying to defend the doors became embroiled in a fierce and bloody skirmish.

In the end, there was no contest. Sam, Tobius, Marcus, Castiel and I, along with the remaining guards, were forced to disperse. The doors swung open and slammed against the walls with an almighty _boom_, and around a hundred Type One's swept inside and over ran us.

We each performed a speedy change, clothes tearing at the seams, shoes ripping off emerging claws, and leapt into the battle. I lost track of Sire and my Uncles after that, too busy standing back to back with Sammy and fighting for our lives.

Like everyone else defending the grounds, Sam and I were surrounded by Type One non-lunars, circling us, viciously snapping at us with their jaws, red eyes glowing and mocking. They performed partial changes with their snouts, paws and legs, morphing from human to wolf and back, trying to confuse and disorient their prey.

Sometimes it was a one on one attack, sometimes it was group effort, which were the hardest to fend off for obvious reasons.

So we followed suit, morphing from one form to another as and when the need arose in combat.

We couldn't thought project, even without the Type One interference. There was too much going on, too many wolves in pain or dying.

Silver tipped arrows, courtesy of the Pack longbow troupe zipped about, narrowly missing us several times, but these guys knew what they were doing. The Type One right in front of me, smirking, taunting, and licking his lips suddenly went rigid, red eyes wide and flickering, then he toppled forwards and landed face down on the cobbles. A quivering arrow protruded from his back, right over the heart.

I whirled around to find Sam being attacked by another three wolves, bloody claw marks up his arms and face already beginning to heal. He fought hard, lashing out with his claws, swiping them across the nose of a female Type One and quite literally wiping the smug grin off her face. She whimpered and growled, ready to come back for more, but Sam gracefully spun around on one paw like a ballerina, his other paw raised in a classic Jean Claude Van Damme pose, and in the next instant her throat was gone. Blood poured down her chest, staining her silky fur, her eyes rolled back and she dropped.

But there were plenty more where she came from.

I felt my heart suddenly swell with equal parts sadness and pride in seeing my little _brotherson_ fighting so skilfully. And we would both bear the guilty burden of this horrific battle for the rest of our days.

Assuming we didn't fucking _lose_ that is.

Getting with the program, I twisted the head off one, ripped out the throat of another… it seemed endless. Wolf after wolf, time and again, came at us, and we took care of each and every one of the sonsofbitches.

But for every wolf we slaughtered, there were another five to take its place, and we were tiring.

Bodies, of both friend and foe alike, piled up around us in a grisly mountain of cooling blood and flesh.

"Dean, we can't hold out much longer," Sam panted, over his shoulder.

Once again, we were standing back to back, partially changed, crouched in readiness for the next attack, and drenched in blood and gore. The Type Ones were becoming wary of us, sure, but we weren't stopping them. All it meant was that they were no longer jumping into the fray so easily; _now, _they were thinking about what they were doing. And that could prove dangerous…

But, suddenly, something changed. In the distance, we heard the distinctive blasts of several powerful shotguns being discharged, followed by the roar of angry battle cries.

Sam and I glanced quickly at each other for confirmation, but we'd both felt the turning of the tide when we heard the weapons firing.

Was it the cavalry riding in? Or just more trouble on the way for us and the Canadian Pack?

Then we sensed how the Type Ones were quickly losing confidence, as though some secret information had been thought projected to them by their commander.

They were _scared_.

We could see it in their cherry red eyes, that flicker of uncertainty, as though the order they'd been given was in direct conflict with their base instincts.

Fight or flight.

It became clear what they'd been ordered to do, and it was equally clear to us what they _wanted_ to do with that order, because they started milling about and in some cases backing right off, whimpering with fear.

Something had them spooked alright and it wasn't the battle with us. The Type Ones were competent and skilled warriors and, up until that point at least, they'd been winning. Or so it seemed to Sammy and me.

So what the hell was going on?

And then, over the heads of the enemy and the bodies, we saw them.

Bobby Singer, Jim Murphy, Andy and Gerald… and _Lenore_ appeared at the Pack doors, wielding all kinds of silver equipped weapons. Bobby with his trusty sawn off, Jim with a hefty broadsword, the werebears with their claws and _were _strength, and Lenore… well, she had her own advantages, being a vamp and all.

But they weren't alone.

Oh, no no no.

They'd brought along a few… _friends._

It was an astounding sight, and one that was extremely welcome. Definitely beat the pants off any battle sequences in Braveheart:

In a surprise rearguard action, a huge battalion of human hunters, werebears, and what seemed like the entire United States population of vampires had slunk out of the forests surrounding the grounds, and attacked the Type One assault squad.

They gained ground quickly.

Jim's broadsword was a blur, whirling round and round, a deadly wall of hardened silver, brutally cutting down any Type One that got in his way.

Bobby, steadily and with an air of confidence that almost made me jealous, reloaded and blasted away the nearest two red-eyed wolves who tried to _dethroat_ him.

Lenore leapt at the nearest Type One, sank her lengthened fangs through fur and flesh, and ripped out its throat. At the same time, she clawed her way into the wolf's chest and a pulsing, still beating heart appeared seconds later, slick with blood.

The wolf dropped like a stone. Lenore didn't spare it another glance, and just charged at the next, and the next, repeating the same action until she was covered from head to toe in the blood of her conquests. All around her, the Florida vamp nest were using the same method of dispatch with frightening ease, until, between them, only a quarter of the enemy remained behind the walls.

Then suddenly, the ones that had survived backed off but only by a small distance, and there was a sense of anticipation about them. Soft whimpers and groans were the only sounds once the carnage was over.

Tobius, Marcus and Castiel, splattered in blood and what looked like intestines, clambered over to us, slipping and slithering around on various non-lunar remains.

"Are you boys alright?" barked Tobius, sharply.

"Yeah, we…" I began.

"Dean." Sam gave me a violent nudge with his elbow, and we all turned to face a silent line of around one hundred Type Twos, members of the Canadian Pack, just standing there, watching us.

From the corner of my eye I could see the remaining troups of Crowley's army as they slunk towards us, hunkered down and grinning evilly, blood dripping from their snouts. It was obvious they were about to attempt a counter attack, but the Type Twos in front of us did nothing.

"Don't just stand there, dammit!" I roared at them, angrily. "This is _your_ pack we're defending!"

But they continued to stand there in eerie silence.

"You heard the man! Jump to it!" ordered Marcus. "These boys have risked their lives for us! Now _move!"_

When no one answered or obeyed, the Alpha made to step forward, face white and stern, but Castiel and Tobius held him back.

"Wait, brother," Castiel's eyes narrowed. "There's something very wrong here."

Instinctively, we all moved closer together facing the Type Twos, with the vamp nest and humans watching our backs.

"Crowley must've gotten to them," Sam murmured softly, slowly dropping back into fighting stance, shoulders loose and limber, body crouched low for stability.

"How can you tell?" I asked out the corner of my mouth.

The line of Type Twos suddenly took a smart pace forward, and one hundred paws struck the ground in a sharp halt.

Then one hundred pairs of eyes flashed red.

"S'ok, I think I figured it out," I muttered quickly, before Sam could answer.

The newly-emerged Type Ones bared their teeth, and charged.

_TBC..._

_Let the battle commence!_

_Sorry for not replying, yet again, to your reviews (sighs in frustration)._

_Been a busy week, and... well, you don't wanna hear it, trust me!_

_Family, work... the usual._

_Lovely to hear from you all during this difficult time, though, so please do keep up with the wonderful reviews._

_Love ST xxx_


	21. Chapter 21

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 21**

_**Now…**_

**Bobby is sitting with the boys, frying up some bacon in an old pan.**

"**Last time I was in shit that deep was back in Nam," he murmurs, and though his words are few they are charged with emotion. "There was nothing I could do other than stay at the back and keep on plugging silver rounds in those damn Type Ones. It was the only chance I could give you boys."**

**Dean claps a hand on Bobby's back and squeezes gently. "No offence, dude, but you're human. You did the best you could."**

"**Don't me make feel no better 'bout it," Bobby growls, softly.**

**They sit in a comfortable silence for a few seconds, while Bobby dishes up the bacon onto wooden platters.**

"**I'll never forget the looks on their faces, or those deep, red eyes," Sam shivers slightly. "I still remember how it felt just before they attacked, and how I thought it would be the last thing I ever saw."**

**Dean huffs. "And we should've known. Hell, we even told Lucas, _right from the start_, there was a possibility Crowley had infiltrated the Canadian Pack with Type Ones."**

**Sam nods slowly as he chews on his bacon, then swallows. "He'd already done it with the Pack Council. But these new converts were a whole different ballgame."**

"**Yep," Dean turns to stare into the camera lens, as though making sure he has our complete attention and understanding. "'Cos they weren't Pack elders, soft from years of sitting on their asses, or even just ordinary cooks or farmers. **

**_These_ guys were NLSU."**

_**Then…**_

I realised who they were. We hadn't been introduced to them all, but we'd seen them around. At least eight had been on guard duty outside our quarters when Sam was under house arrest, changing shifts every four hours or so, but there were two in particular that had me riled.

These were the two non-lunars who had accompanied Captain Byrnes and Sergeant Fisher on the sabotage mission. Clearly they'd succeeded since cannon remained silent, but someone had gotten the drop on them and taken the Captain as hostage. What that meant for the Sergeant I couldn't say for sure, but I could hazard a fair guess that the poor guy was dead already. As for the Captain, we hadn't seen him since before the grounds were stormed.

All these thoughts ran through my head a split second before the bastards charged.

As we began to spring forth once more to meet our foe, the world seemed to suddenly slow down on its axis. It felt like trying to run through water, our legs weighted down, our arms refusing to move with the speed we so desperately needed. The new Type Ones, however, were also affected so it wasn't all bad news.

"What the hell?" I ground out, angrily, trying to push forwards another step.

"I don't know for sure," Sam answered, sounding as strained and frustrated as I felt. "But I think there's some psychic energy going on…"

And then we all heard her.

_I've managed to stall 'em, and I temporarily disabled their block, _Missouri's tired voice chimed in our heads. _You can all now thought project but not for long, and Sam... that ain't all __**you**__ can do, honey. Now, here's ya chance! _Her inner voice became shrill and commanding. _Push 'em back, and keep pushin'!_

The weird hold on us was gone so unexpectedly that we nearly face planted, but latent momentum kept us on our feet and racing towards the floundering new Type Ones, still imprisoned by Missouri's mental grasp.

_Keep going! _The Cook screamed in our heads. _I can't hold 'em off for much longer… __**move!**_

Even I could see how they were slowly regaining what Missouri had snatched away from them, and I knew there was a good chance that by the time we reached them they'd be back in full control of their capabilities.

"Shit!" I griped, half scared shitless, half pissed off. "We're not gonna make it."

"Oh. Yes. We. _Are!_" Sam roared, and sped up into a full on sprint with one human fist extended right out in front. So great was his speed that he outran the rest of us, getting a good lead.

"Sammy, no!" I screamed out.

"What the hell is he doing?" demanded Tobius anxiously from nearby.

"I don't know, but I'm gonna stop 'im before he gets himself killed," I answered, determinedly and picked up the pace. "Sammy, you get back here now!"

But he ignored me and carried on. Head lowered, eyes glowing fiercely, his battle howl rose another octave just as his fist opened up, fingers splayed wide. Then he suddenly stopped dead and stood, paws stubbornly planted, human hand still outstretched.

It was like walking into a vacuum. No noise, just silence, as though someone upstairs had switched off the sound, until Sam slowly pulled his hand in, then _punched_ it back out with almost enough force to crack his shoulder blade. It was instantly followed by a millisecond of blinding, white light, and all sound returned with Dolby digital surround as the new converts of Crowley's army, screaming and howling, all went flying up around twenty feet in the air and backwards.

Each and every one of them smashed at full force into the building behind, which happened to be the Council Chambers. One hundred bodies slid, limp and stunned, to the ground. Some groaned in pain and others didn't move at all, but the fragments of bone sticking out of the Council walls, coupled with blood leaking from the backs of the new-born Type Ones' heads, told us they were no longer much of a threat.

Sam let out a deep, soft growl and collapsed to his knees, while his body completed the change to full human. I cautiously moved towards him, noting how his head hung down as though too heavy for his neck to support, and darkened, sweat damp hair covered his eyes.

"Sammy?" I called softly as I approached. "You ok?"

He shook his head slightly but didn't reply.

Dropping down in front of him, I gently brushed aside his hair and checked his eyes. They were still glowing but it was faint. Thankfully, the pulsing light was blue-green. I don't know what else I expected, especially since it had been days since the Sleepworm was ripped out of him, but I sure was glad to see his normal colour shining at me.

But the kid was exhausted. Panting heavily with fatigue, he reached out with a shaky hand and grasped my shoulder, desperate for support and reassurance.

"You did great, kid," I whispered.

When he swayed suddenly, I firmly wrapped him up in my arms, supporting his head against my shoulder. It was like holding toddler Sam again, comforting him after one of his nightmares.

"I'm so proud of you, Sammy. Rest now, ok? Let me take it from here."

I don't know where Sire found it in the middle of a battlefield, or maybe we'd been kneeling there together for longer than I realised, but in the next moment, he was enfolding us both inside a thick, warm blanket of animal furs.

"Come on you two," he murmured, and helped us up from our kneeling position. "Leave the clean up to us."

I glanced up at Tobius. Just over his shoulder, worn and bloodied from battle, but standing firm and powerful, the Canadian Pack Alpha and his Beta, my _uncles_, both nodded. Their eyes were shining with the pride and sadness of a hard won victory.

Sire gestured towards the Council Chambers. "We'll be staying in Marcus' quarters. Now go," he insisted with a gentle smile. "There's nothing more for you pups to do here. We have everything under control."

When Tobius moved to stand near his brothers, a lump grew in my throat. Sammy and I had fought along side these three magnificent warriors… and they were our _family_.

We must have missed the last part of the battle, because when a shout came from behind, all five of us slowly turned to see the remainder of Crowley's army being arrested by the Canadian Pack, and herded away. It all seemed a little anticlimactic.

"Wh-what will happen to them?" asked Sam, tiredly.

"They'll be kept under armed guard until such a time comes when we can find a way to return them to their former state," replied Marcus.

"Brother," said Castiel, urgently. "With respect, I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

"Indeed," added Tobius, though he sounded reluctant. "We might never find a way to change them back."

Marcus sighed deeply.

"What would you have me do? Execute them all?" he shook his head. "Many of those wolves are just as much victims of Crowley's deceit as we are, if not more so. It would be mass murder. No, there shall be a trial. An open _Were_ trial to establish who was coerced, and who volunteered. With Missouri's help, I'm sure nothing shall remain hidden, or covered up, or kept secret."

I sensed, somehow, that Tobius was relieved by Marcus' decision, and I certainly felt Sam's shoulders sag a little.

"In the meantime," Marcus continued. "There has been enough blood shed this day. We must tend to the wounded and pray for the dead," his eyes rose to the heavens, watching weak, wintry sunlight break through the snow-laden clouds. "No matter which side they were on."

Castiel nodded and moved off to organise the clean up, account for what was left of the NLSU, and make general checks on the population's wellbeing. There was also the question of Crowley's whereabouts, and judging by the look on the Beta's face, that issue was considered a high priority.

Tobius and Marcus would make a tour of the grounds, assessing the damage to the perimeter wall and buildings, and check that Dave the Doc had enough medical equipment.

Bobby and Jim waved to us from a distance, and I heard Andy, in my head, explaining that they would catch up with us later. They had work to do. No doubt they would stick around to help the Pack put itself back together, but right now Sammy needed rest. That mojo he used on the Type Ones had really taken it out of him.

_Is it over, now?_ Sam whispered as we stumbled along, heading for the Council Chambers.

_For us? _I answered, uncertainly. _I guess so._

The fact that we could now thought project should have been a comfort, but it wasn't. Perhaps we'd fought Crowley's Type Ones too many times to trust in it.

Sam didn't say anything more, just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other while I held him up, but I believe he was about as confident as I was right then. It felt like there was a loose thread, hanging just in front of us but out of sight. Like a pesky spider's web that hits you in the face and you just can't get rid of the feel of it, no matter how many times you swipe a hand over your nose.

But I was too tired to think straight so I shrugged it off. After days of running around after Crowley in the wilderness, the battle against the Type Ones, and Sam's magic use, it was time to trust our family to protect us when we were so vulnerable.

_C'mon kiddo,_ I pulled Sam a little closer and tucked his head under my chin. _We both need food, brandy and sleep._

Much later, while dozing under the influence of some good brandy, stretched out on one of Marcus' comfortable leather sofas and soaking up the warm fire, there came a knock at the door.

I exchanged a glance with Sam and rose to open it, but Sam pulled me back and stood up in my place.

_Sam? _I stared at him.

_Me Beta, you Alpha, _he grinned, his face lighting up a little, despite the dark rings of fatigue under his eyes.

_Oh for God's sake…_ I huffed, sat back and folded my arms across my chest.

Our visitors, however, came as a surprise.

Castiel stood in the doorway, the firelight flickering over his face revealing a bemused smile, and two pups snuggled in his arms.

We recognised them immediately.

_Matthew? _I gaped. _And is that Logan?_

Both pups stirred and blinked up at us.

_What the hell you guys doing all the way out here? _Asked Sam, in a similar state of shock.

Before they could answer, a gruff and angry sounding Scotsman spoke up on their behalf.

_That's a bloody good question,_ _and one I fully intend getting the answer to! _growled Lucas appearing behind Castiel in the doorway, also bearing the weight of a young wolf. _Once I've checked his leg for silver._

It was his son, Arthur, pale and unconscious, and clearly badly wounded.

Ok, so this was serious and while Sam and I were dying to ask, now wasn't the time.

Despite his anger, we could tell that the Home Pack Alpha was terrified of losing his son.

As Sam and I relieved Castiel of Matthew and Logan, Lucas strode into the room and laid his pup on one of the sofas.

We gently put the young brothers down in front of the fire with a stern warning to stay where they were, then set about helping Lucas tend to his boy.

Castiel gave a small bow, muttered something about sending for food, and left the room, making sure to close the door behind him. I knew he'd be back to check on us at some point.

Sam rummaged through Marcus' desk, pulled out a first aid kit and handed it over to the Home Pack Alpha.

After he'd examined his son's wound thoroughly, Lucas only found a tiny fragment of silver near the surface and pulled it free before it could cause any further damage.

Instantly, Arthur's face seemed to regain a little colour. He shifted, whimpered softly, and settled down again, while his father wrapped the wound in a clean bandage.

_What happened, exactly?_ I asked, handing Lucas the brandy.

The Alpha took a swig and wiped his mouth. _After you left, a hunting party of Type Ones wandered into the area, probably looking for deer and not expecting to find anyone. We took 'em by surprise, killed their leader, wiped out most of their team, in fact, but we must've missed one._

He turned to gaze at his sleeping son.

_And I would've bought it if not for this wee rascal._ Lucas began tucking a discarded fur blanket round the kid, then brushed a few strands of hair back from his eyes. _He came out of nowhere, with those two youngsters following at his heels. _He nodded to the younger pups lounging by the fire. _Arthur pushed me out of the way, took a silver arrow in the leg for his trouble, and when the Type One tried reloading, he found his concentration was buggered by two wee wolf pups, Matthew clinging on to his arrow hand, whilst Logan took a good, long bite at his love spuds, and wouldn't let go._

Sam and I winced in unison and laughed.

Lucas smiled in amusement, though his eyes were still dark with the memory of seeing his son injured in battle. I sure knew how that felt.

Sam glanced over at Logan, the younger of the two brothers. _Dude, that must've left a nasty taste in your mouth._

The pup rolled his eyes and batted at his brother with a tiny paw when he sniggered. _Like you wouldn't believe._

Matthew returned the playful swat in kind, but his eyes gleamed with pride in his little brother, and no small amount of mischief. _I think he farted too, 'cos afterwards Logan sure smelled of shi…_

_I think we get the picture, boys_, Lucas interrupted with a splutter, not used to hearing such language out the mouths of babes. _Needless to say, these three will be given a __**very **__stern talking to when we get home! _He waggled his shaggy eyebrows at the pups and they just giggled at him.

Lucas rolled his eyes and shook his head. _Youngsters these days. They can never take anything seriously._

Despite the levity of the moment, I could tell that the pups, including Arthur, were indeed facing some serious punishment. Arthur in particular, in fact. He had disobeyed a direct order from his Alpha and placed his life, and that of Matthew and Logan's, in serious danger.

After the longbow ambush, and as soon as he'd escorted the injured wolves back to his mother, Arthur had absconded into the night. A little while later he found himself saddled with the insular wolf brothers, who had followed him from home at a discreet distance until Arthur figured out he was being shadowed.

There'd been an argument, of course, but the brothers were insistent. Cornelius, the Home Pack Beta and their _kind of_ adopted father, had been gone too long and they were determined to find him. Their biological parents had abandoned them shortly after Logan was born and hadn't been seen since. Out of all the members of the Home Pack, Cornelius was the closest thing to real family the two boys had ever known.

Arthur had tried to order them to return, citing the journey as too dangerous for them, but the brothers had come too far to turn back. So with a promise from the pups to stay behind him at all times and do as they were told, Arthur reluctantly continued with the long journey.

Sneaking out on his pack, journeying across some tough and downright treacherous terrain, to come to the aid of his Alpha and father, had been foolhardy, reckless, and downright stupid.

Lucas winked at Sam and me.

Dangerous it might have been, but it was the stuff Alpha's were made of.

We filled Lucas in on the battle for the main gates, how Bobby, Jim, the werebears and the vamps attacked from the rear. How Sam, with Missouri's aid, took on a battalion of NLSU-trained Type Ones and literally blew them away with his powers.

Lucas nodded along, listening intently and sharing time line information of his own at various points.

Conversation began to wane when we all started yawning again, and Lucas got up to throw some more logs on the fire. The young brothers leapt onto the sofa to curl up between Arthur at one end, and Sammy and me at the other.

The Alpha turned to us and raised an amused eyebrow.

_Any other questions?_

Sam nodded and leaned over, obviously not wanting the youngsters to hear.

"Has there been any word on Cornelius?"He whispered, nervously. "Last we heard, he was at the rear gates when they were attacked."

Lucas smiled a little sadly. _Two of his team were killed outright in that skirmish, and the other was badly wounded, but Cornelius himself is… ok, I suppose. Not brilliant, but ok. _The Alpha shrugged. _The cavalry arrived at the last second just as he was about to go down with the others: thanks to a wee transportation spell supplied by Mr Singer, Vicky and her girls got there just in time to back him up and they kicked some serious Type One arse. No doubt, they'll all come and see you both once they've finished tending to the wounded, so get some sleep, all of you. I need to go check on the rest of my pack._

Sammy and I could at least relax a little, now. Our brother-in-arms was safe, and Matthew and Logan still had their father-figure.

The walls were no doubt already under repair, the Type Ones were under lock and key, there'd been no sign of John Winchester, and Crowley was being hunted by Castiel and his squad.

We had nothing to worry about.

Right?

An hour later, Missouri arrived with several platters of good, hot food, but when she saw the pups, including Sam, all sleeping soundly, she smiled and shook her head.

_Eat, honey, before it gets cold, _she whispered to me, softly. _Let them all sleep for now, and I'll bring more food for them a little later. _

_Yeah, I guess so,_ I shrugged a little despondently.

Cook then stared at me with a shrewd look in her eyes. _You don't think it's over, do you?_

I stared back, biting my lip and wondering how to answer that. In the end, I kept it simple.

_Not a chance._

_Hmm. _Missouri sat down on the sofa next to ours and studied my face. _What does Sam say?_

_He's not said anything, but I know he feels the same way, _I replied.

The Cook nodded slowly, got up and headed for the door. Before she left, she gave me a couple pieces of advice.

_Trust your instincts, Dean, __**and**__ Sam's, _she whispered, her deep brown eyes glowing green in the firelight. _And eat. Ya can't think on an empty stomach._

She was gone in the next instant.

Day soon turned to night and a grandfather clock at the back of the room quietly tick-tocked away to itself. The fire died down a little, leaving red, glowing embers in the dark of the room that kept reminding me of the enemy and their bright cherry eyes. To discourage any battle fatigue-induced paranoia that might have been creeping up on me, I silently got up, added more wood and stoked the fire until the embers were ablaze once more. But it didn't help any. It was four hours after the battle and I still couldn't sleep, despite my exhaustion.

A familiar scent drifted up my nose and I smiled broadly when the door quietly opened to reveal a grinning Cornelius. He was a little scratched up around the face but his wounds were healing nicely. Someone had lent him one of the Canadian Pack robes, but it looked kind of ridiculous on him, since it was way too long, too big around the shoulders, and the belt wrapped twice around his waist. I guess it could've once belonged to Sergeant Fisher.

"You lived through it, then?"He joked.

"Sure did, but only just."I made a beckoning gesture with my hand and sat back down next to Sam, carefully pulling the kid's head back onto my shoulder so as not to wake him. "C'mon in. There's some food left over."

"Oh thank God!"The Home Pack Beta wolf sniffed at the platters on the coffee table in front of the fireplace and grabbed up a chicken leg. "I'm starving. Fighting off non-lunars is damn draining."

Yeah, I could vouch for that.

"Lucas told us about your team," I said, as tactfully as I could. "I'm sorry for your loss, Cornelius."

The Home Pack Beta sniffed and wiped his mouth. "Yeah. It was inevitable, I guess," he said, quietly, voice hoarse. "We were outnumbered two to one, after all. There was no way we were walking out of there alive. Not without backup."

I nodded in understanding. We'd got lucky round at the main doors in that our backup arrived _before_ we were overwhelmed.

"Lucas said that one of your team survived the battle…"I began, quietly.

Cornelius pursed his lips. "But not for long. The wound was mortal."

He seemed disinclined to talk about it, and I didn't want to push. It was probably a little too soon, after all. Better to wait until the _invisible_ battle wounds have had time to scar over.

The Beta took a bite of his food, then nodded at Sam, still slumped against me and snoring away. "How's he fairing? I heard about him using his powers. That was pretty risky."

I frowned. "How do you mean?"

Cornelius chewed and swallowed, his soft, blue gaze never leaving Sam. "Those Type Ones could have easily turned it back on him. It was dangerous. Brave, but very dangerous. Sam could've gotten badly hurt."

Couldn't exactly disagree with him on that. "Yeah, I know. But he had Missouri helping him. And besides, it worked. We won."

"Yeah,"the Beta looked thoughtful for a moment there. I was expecting at least _some_ quiet confession of guilt about the loss of his compadres but, instead, he completely changed the subject. "So, that Sleepworm drug. You think it restored Sammy's sight?"

That threw me off a little. "Possibly. Doubt we're ever gonna know for sure. Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "Just wondered if it could give me back the ability to thought project, is all."

Something was changing here. The dynamics of this conversation were all wrong, and the atmosphere had become notably awkward and tense. All I could do was play along and see where he was going with this.

"That's a risky business, Cornelius," I argued as convincingly as I could, knowing that something was dawning on me. Something terrible. "We almost lost Sam 'cos of that stuff. It's not worth it."

Cornelius carefully put down the chicken leg, and wiped his hands on his robe.

"No, I don't suppose it is," he murmured, tonelessly.

The Beta stood slowly and turned to me. As he did so, the sharp angles of his face, partially cast in shadows from the light of the fire, took on a more menacing facet. And, though the voice and body belonged to Cornelius, there was no doubt in my mind who this really was.

"Howdy Dean. Long time no see."

John Winchester grinned from ear to ear, and his borrowed eyes rolled black.

_**TBC...**_

_**I meant to publish this sooner, but work got in the way, so I apologise for not keeping to the 2 chapter posts a week. There's only a few chapters left, so not long to go now.**_

_**Hope you all continue to enjoy the story, and please remember to leave a review... it makes my hard work all the more worth it.**_

_**With love,**_

_**ST xxx**_


	22. Chapter 22

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 22**

**I implore you all to keep an open mind with this chapter.**

_**Now…**_

"**I still can't believe it," Sam whispers, sadly. "When did John get the jump on Cornelius?"**

**Dean sighs and wraps an arm round Sam's shoulders. "According to eyewitnesses from the Canadian Pack, there weren't as many Type Ones attacking the rear gates as Cornelius made out, but Crowley was among them. Bastard must've abandoned the main doors once it was clear he'd lost the initiative, and made for the rear of the grounds."**

"**I guess," says Sam, still looking sad, but now his brow is creased with thought. "It _was_ a little convenient that _all _Cornelius' team was wiped out before backup arrived, huh?"**

**Bobby nods and takes a sip of mead. "I wasn't there when he was taking care of that last wolf, the one who survived, but Missouri swore that wound wasn't mortal because she'd already pulled out the silver arrow before she moved onto the rest of the wounded. Poor sucker died before the Doc could confirm it, though."**

**Pastor Jim is sitting up with a blanket around his shoulders, hair in disarray, so it's clear he hasn't been awake long. "Andy, Gerald and I came back into the infirmary just as Cornelius was leaving. He _appeared_ upset, I'll grant you, but it was all a little…" the priest waves a hand back and forth, as though he's having trouble describing what he saw. "…_stiff_ and _disjointed_. I put it down to his own healing battle wounds at the time, combined with the grief of losing close pack members…" he heaves a self-deprecating sigh. "But now we all know differently. John murdered the poor injured wolf to keep his secret safe a while longer."**

**Without warning, Sam changes, slowly and limb by limb, until he's fully wolfed out and lying across Dean's lap. The red wolf sniffs and turns his head away, rubbing his long snout against Dean's belly.**

"**Easy, Sammy," Dean whispers, stroking his fingers through the young wolf's long fur. "I know the hard part's coming up. Try and go to sleep, buddy. You don't need to go over all this again."**

**A soft, muffled _woof_ from deep within Dean's tee-shirt says otherwise.**

"**Ok," Dean replies, instantly, still stroking Sam's fur. "Alright I get it, dude…"**

**When he lifts his glowing gaze to the camera, unshed tears sparkle in the firelight.**

_**Then…**_

"You sonofabitch!" I snarled, standing abruptly.

Sam snorted awake and blinked up at me.

"Dean, what's wrong?" then he saw Cornelius and got up. "Oh! You…" he blinked and that dimpled smile of welcome faded before it had truly even formed.

John gave a small bow.

"And _there's_ my little bastard," he grinned at Sam. "You're looking a little peaky there, Sammy. I hear those spells are a real bitch."

"_Don't_ you call him that!" I snapped and took at pace forward, pushing Sam behind me.

"Don't call him what?" John smirked, nastily. "_Bastard, _or _Sammy?"_

"Neither!" I hissed. "And he sure as hell ain't _yours_."

The grin dropped off his face in an instant.

"Oh you got _that_ damn straight!" he retorted with such bitter malice I was almost taken aback. "And _he never was!"_

Silence fell heavily in the wake of his inference.

_Dean... what? _Asked Sam, sounding confused.

_I dunno, Sam. _I replied, only semi-confident. _But don't listen to him. Demons…_

_Lie? _John finished for me. The grin returned, and it was beginning to piss me off. _Sure they do. But sometimes they tell the truth, just to mess with your head._

Those black eyes mocked us.

_I guess I was right, _he added, smugly. _Sleepworm __**did**_ _give Cornelius back his thought projection. Damn shame he never lived long enough to appreciate it, huh?_

I heard Sam's strangled gasp of dismay and felt my own grief threaten to overwhelm. Cornelius was already dead, his body only standing up and moving around because of the demon lodged inside it.

It wasn't fair. Cornelius had deserved a cleaner death than this. A _warrior's_ death.

I realised right then that whatever else John had to say about Sam, I didn't want to know.

No. That wasn't quite right.

I didn't _need_ to know.

_Guys? What's going on? _Matthew spoke up from the sofa, his voice slurred with sleep.

_Nothing for you to worry about, _I murmured, gently, but kept facing John, body tense and ready to launch an attack at the slightest provocation.

_Cornelius! _The youngster whispered, delightedly. _You're back!_

_No, it's not him, Matthew, _Sam told him, sadly. _It's just someone who looks like him._

_But…_ the pup began, then I imagined him taking a long, hard look at John. He sighed and whispered, forlornly:_ Yeah, I can see that now._

Sure wish I'd been that quick.

I heard the creak of the sofa as someone stood up.

_They don't need to be here for this, _said Sam, quietly, coming to stand beside me this time.

I raised an eyebrow at John, who laughed.

_Why not? _he shrugged, carelessly. _I've no interest in these mutts. Tell them to leave._

Though we already knew who he was really after, I didn't trust him one little bit not to hurt the younger boys just out of spite.

Keeping my gaze on John's, I gestured to Sam. _Get the pups out of here._

_I'm not leaving you to face him alone, _Sam answered, his tone suggesting that no argument in the world would persuade him to go.

_I'm not asking you to, _I replied, reasonably. _Just get them to the door._

John roared with laughter.

"You're pathetic, Dean. I taught you better than that. You just let him walk all over you," he inched closer, sneering widely. "What kind of leader allows his subordinates to disobey a direct command?"

He was twisting our words, trying to turn them against us.

"Sam, get the pups out," I repeated through gritted teeth.

I heard him wake up Arthur and Logan with a few soft words, then the patter of paws as Logan and Matthew rounded the coffee table on the opposite side to John and me. Arthur came into view next, pale and limping, barely awake, the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. It was a testament to how sick and injured he still was that he didn't even question what was going on. He just followed the two brothers blindly and without argument.

I nodded as Sam edged towards the door and opened it, allowing the three youngsters to pass through.

Just as Arthur set foot outside, the door slammed shut, presumably knocking the poor kid halfway down the stairwell on the other side. Sam jiggled the door handle, trying to get out, but it was wedged shut.

"Kids! You ok out there?" he yelled, frantically, still pulling uselessly on the doorknob. "Arthur?"

_Ah, ah, ah, Sammy! _John sneered. _You're not going anywhere._

Then he turned back to me. _And as for you, _he raised a hand.

I was lifted off my feet and flung backwards. Hitting the wall on the other side of the room knocked the wind right out of me but, instead of sliding down the wall, I remained pinned in place.

"Dean!" Sam cried out, now facing away from the door, eyes wide with worry.

"M'ok," I answered, trying to shake the fuzz from my aching head. "Can't move, though."

Sam's eyes darkened with anger.

"Let him go," he growled at John, who grinned and shrugged.

"I don't think so, _Sammy,_" he countered. "Not until I've got what I came for."

"And what is that exactly?" asked Sam through gritted teeth, head up, all defiance and fire.

John's grin dropped and an expression of sheer fury and hate took its place. Eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on Sam.

"You," he said, quietly, like the toll of a death bell.

I kicked and fought but to no avail. Stuck halfway up the wall, I watched helplessly as John began to pace slowly up and down.

"Why me?" asked Sam, looking wary, angry and confused, but no longer quite so defiant. His confidence was waning slightly in the presence of his oldest enemy, and I silently begged him to remain strong.

The demon carried on pacing, his steps slow and purposeful, black gaze never leaving Sam's.

"Well, now," John replied, voice soft and menacing.

But he didn't get much further than that.

_Sam? Dean? _Sire called, urgently, from outside the locked door. _Are you ok in there boys? _

_John Winchester's here! _I yelled in my head, desperately. _He's poss…_

But the demon waved a hand at me and I knew my thought projections had been silenced. When I tried to speak out loud, nothing came. My mouth just gaped open like a goldfish at feeding time.

"You talk too much, kid," John informed me with a smug sneer.

"Dean!" Sire called aloud this time, but neither Sam nor I could answer him.

There came a loud thud at the door, then another. There was some grumbling and swearing, followed by more thuds, then the door gave out a loud cracking noise, and the head of a spear slammed through the wood, splitting the door from top to bottom.

"Ah!" said John, a little too casual and gleeful for my liking. "The hero returns to save his brats. How touching." He snorted with contempt. "It'll be good to have him here for this. Nothing like a _parenting _reunion, huh boys?"

Tobius used the spear to pull away the rest of the door and allow him entry. He strode inside the room, eyes gleaming with fury. Watching him take quick stock of the situation, I could see the thought process going on in Sire's head, the moment he came to the sad conclusion that Cornelius was no longer himself.

And in that moment, Sire shoved aside his grief and challenged the demon.

"Let my boys go, John," he growled, fingers flexing around the spear.

John laughed, cruelly.

"In good time," he said, and tilted his head to one side in consideration. "Yes, it _is_ good to have you here. Perfect, in fact. I never thought I'd see the day when I would finally catch up with you, Tobius. A human against a non-lunar? I think it's pretty obvious who would win. But as a demon?" John shook his head, mockingly. "Now _that's _a whole other kettle of fish."

Tobius studied the demon for a moment, then relaxed a little. "Ok. I'll bite. Let's hear what you have to say."

The demon shook his head again. "Oh no. Not just yet," he said. "Ya see? Me and Sammyboy here have a little score to settle first."

With a flick of the wrist, Sire joined me halfway up the wall, pinned and useless, arms and legs flailing, and completely mute.

Sam gulped but stood his ground as our demon ex-father approached him, then stopped a few feet away.

"Think you can take me, kiddo?" John asked, suddenly sounding concerned and loving in a way that made me want to hurl.

Sam's nod was jerky but his clenched jaw and flared nostrils told me his stubborn nature was in charge here.

"Ok, then," John waggled his eyebrows and began to circle the kid. "Let's go."

Sam hunkered down, hands morphing, nails elongating, becoming thick, sharp claws that could gut a human in the blink of an eye. His fangs gleamed in the firelight, eyes glowing while his long snout formed smoothly.

Sam took a graceful step to the side, and the demon followed seamlessly, his own partial wolfing out process taking place.

It was wearing Cornelius' meat suit, using his voice... God only knows what that was doing to Sam, but he handled it admirably.

When one made a sudden movement, the other repeated it, and so on, each one watching the other closely. It all took place in absolute silence, apart the heavy breathing of the fighters.

I was terrified for Sam. We'd all been down this road before up at Mont Noir. Sire and I were pinned, helpless to move, unable to save Sam before that damn silver sword pierced his chest. I couldn't bear to watch it a second time, but I feared I had no choice.

The circling didn't last for long. Sam had learned a thing or two since Mont Noir.

Breaking the stalemate, Sam leapt, curled up into a ball and vaulted over the sofa. His rear paws slammed into John, who almost lost balance and nearly ended up in the fireplace.

The demon appeared shocked for a second or two, but soon recovered with a similar counter attack, which didn't work. Sam had already darted away to a safe distance and was gearing up for another assault. He came on fast and strong, hurling himself forward into a full on sprint and turned at the very last second, kicking his legs up, those clever rear paws once again smashing into John's face and sending him flying backwards over the coffee table.

But John was instantly up on his feet again, spitting teeth and wiping the blood from his nose. This time, he was mad as hell. His chest puffed up, paws up, claws out, his mouth opened and he let loose a fierce roar of absolute rage.

Panting, puffing, fangs on display in a fearful snarl, John suddenly sprang up onto the coffee table and before Sam could move backwards, John swiped at him, catching him across the left arm. Sam howled in pain as those claws raked across from arm to chest and gouged deep into his flesh, and it only made him angrier.

In a powerful roundhouse kick to the head, Sam almost got himself free, but John stubbornly held on, trying to bury his claws inside Sam. He was aiming for the kid's heart and I struggled harder to get off the wall and defend him, but I remained pinned like a friggin' butterfly in some sick scientist's collection.

John flexed his claws, pulled Sam right up into his face and grinned, saliva dripping from his fangs.

"Feel familiar, does it?" the demon hissed, studying Sam's pain wracked face with delight. John flexed again, his paw burrowing its way deeper inside Sam's chest. "Isn't this where Jake got you? I hear a silver sword in the heart's a real…"he tugged harshly once more "_bitch!"_

Sam, for his part, cried out, no doubt the pull on his chest sheer agony, but he wasn't done yet.

Swiftly pulling back his head, Sam extended his jaws, and took a large chunk out of John's neck, not enough to disable the jugular, but enough to cause a painful distraction.

The demon howled and ripped himself away, claws retracting and dislodging from Sam's chest in a spray of blood.

"Does _that_ feel familiar?" Sam retorted, eyes flashing with vengeful wrath. "Only last time it was my _grandpa!_ Guess the apple doesn't fall far, huh?"

John stilled, chest heaving, one paw clutching at his bleeding neck.

"Grandpa, hmmm?" he murmured, a secretive look coming over him. "That's real interesting, Sammy."

Then he turned to Tobius and me, still imprisoned halfway up the wall, and raised a genuinely surprised eyebrow. "You guys really don't know, huh?"

I was suddenly reminded of his earlier comment about Sam, glanced at Tobius, who was glaring hard at John, and a weird feeling crept up on me. The answer was right there, right in front of me, just out of reach, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't grasp it.

"What the hell are you talking about?" demanded Sam, angrily. "Stop talking in riddles and tell me what you want from us!"

John snarled and huffed. "I would've thought that was obvious," he growled, the look of secretive, near-amusement was gone, eyes once again filled with hate. "You should've been watching Dean's back that night, _Sammy. _It should've been _you_ who was turned, not Dean. But then, I guess it wasn't strictly necessary."

That was a real weird comment, and once again that _feeling_ swam around in the back of my head. I tried to call out in protest, but all I could manage was a soft whine from my frozen vocal cords.

John turned his head to stare at me, expression suddenly sad.

"You wanna know why, Dean?" he whispered, forlornly. "You were my _boy! _My first born… my one and only true child, not this…" the demon snarled at Sam, who flinched, eyes filling with tears of long ago hurt "_abomination! _He was never mine. I would never have missed him like I missed you, Dean."

As the implication sank in, my heart seemed to freeze, and I sensed my Sire going still.

"Wha…?" Sam whispered, desolation written all over his young face. He cleared his throat. "I don't understand… Dean getting turned… it was an accident…"

Then it slowly dawned on him what John was inferring and his eyes widened, tears pouring down his face. He shook his head, miserably.

"No…"

It was almost as though I could hear Sam's heart breaking in the silence that followed.

Because I now had the answer to that _feeling_.

Demon's lie, but sometimes they tell the truth…

The demon grinned triumphantly. What occurred next was so fast I couldn't follow, but in a sudden flash of silver, he lunged forward. There was a soft swishing noise and a sickening _squelch_.

Sam fell to his knees, mouth open, gasping for air, right hand clutching at his left arm… which was barely hanging on to his shoulder by a thread of skin and sinew. Blood spewed down his arm, his body, all over the floor.

Oh god.

I wanted to puke. I wanted to scream blue, bloody murder, but most of all I wanted to go to him and try to ease his pain. But the demon wasn't finished tormenting him.

"Recognise this, _Sammykins_?" asked John, and held out a very familiar looking sword, covered in Sam's blood. "Yeah, I thought you might. Kindly loaned to me by Bobby Singer and Pastor Jim, though that's not to say they didn't put up a fight."

It was the silver sword Jake had forged with his own blood and used to nearly kill Sam at the battle of Mont Noir. John had taken it from Singer Salvage yard the night he attacked Bobby and the priest, leaving Jim Murphy with a broken leg.

He must have been hiding it under Cornelius' robes, because there had been no hint of it when he moved around or sat down.

Discarded nearby on the floor was a roll of grey cloth. I extended my snout and sniffed for it, but got nothing. Must've been used to cover the scent of silver.

Sonofabitch got the drop on us in more ways than one.

My heart squeezed tight in my chest when I glanced back at Sam. The kid blinked in shock, swaying, trying to hold himself upright and I prayed to whoever might be listening that there were no silver shards buried in his wound.

"Mary, God rest her, cheated on me," John announced, quietly.

All eyes turned to him, Sam's included, no doubt all of us in equal states of shock.

"I knew at the time she was fucking someone else. I mean, why not? I was on night shifts, working overtime at the garage, trying to get the business up and running. I wasn't there for her," he shrugged, casually. "I get it. Honestly. Can't really blame her, I guess. I wasn't too nice to her at times. Too tired to carry on a normal conversation 'how was your day, honey? 'What would you like for dinner darlin'?"

The Bastard slunk closer to Sam. "But then _you_ came along, as if to add insult to injury," he hissed in Sam's pale, weary face. "And I just _knew _you weren't mine, _Sammy_."

Sam shook his head. "N-no!" he cried, weakly, his face somehow turning a shade even paler than before. "I…"

But John wasn't about to let him finish.

"Never found out _officially, _of course, and Mary denied it 'til she was blue in the face, right up to the day she died," the demon sneered at Sam, virtually spitting at him. "But you looked nothing like me. _Almost e_verything about you was _her._"

Sam gulped and whimpered in pain when John grabbed the shoulder of his injured limb and _twisted. _Whatever colour had been left in Sam's face was now gone, but he refused to scream, refused to give the bastard any such satisfaction.

Out the corner of my eye, I saw Tobius renewing his struggles, his teeth bared, ears sliding up his head.

"It wasn't 'til Tobius here," John jerked his chin towards Sire, who glared back at him in silent malevolence "dispatched me downstairs that the truth came out. Azazel was simply _dying _to meet me. And he told me, Sam." The demon's black eyes turned to the kid, then he leaned down and cupped Sam's chin in a harsh grip. "He told me who you really belong to. And boy! Did it sure blow me out of the water!"

John suddenly snarled and bared his teeth.

"You were Tobius' brat all along."

Sam's eyes widened and I heard Sire draw in a sharp breath.

I… wasn't really processing it. I just kept repeating a mantra over and over in my head.

_Demons lie… Demons lie… Demons lie…_

But just occasionally, a quiet traitor would add _sometimes they tell the truth, just to mess with your head…_

John laughed, long and loud with no trace of humour. "I just can't win with you, huh, Dean? Either I'm lying or telling the truth, now which is it?"

Sensing that the mystical gag was off, I glared at him, defiantly, refusing to speak.

"Well? I asked you a question, now _which is it?_" he roared, now seemingly mad beyond reason. "The sonofabitch who took my only son and made him into a monster, was the very same lowlife who, years before, fucked my wife and left me with his _bastard _to raise as my own! Tell me, Dean, _why would I lie about that?_"

I had several answers:

''Cos you're nuts.'

''Cos you're stupid enough to believe anything Azazel tells you'

''Cos no way would Tobius do something like that…'

But, just then, I glanced over at Sire. He was back to fully human, head down, eyes closed, and silent tears dripped down his face.

Another reason came to mind.

''Cos you're not lying. 'Cos maybe, _just maybe_, you're telling the truth…'

Tobius slowly raised his head and fixed his watery gaze on Sam.

"John was working late the night I dropped by, and Dean was upstairs asleep," he whispered, forlornly. "I was just visiting an old friend. I hadn't intended..." Sire shook his head slowly. "Your mother was so alone and scared... It was just one night, a moment of loneliness and weakness, just one _slip, _and I never saw her again, I swear. I didn't even know Mary had another child until I turned Dean and he told me he had a little brother. But still, I didn't figure it out... I never even _thought... _you look so much like Mary. Please forgive me, child. If I had known, I would have come for you sooner… If I'd known just what kind of a bastard was raising you back then, I would have come for the _both _of you _so_ much sooner. But I never knew, Sam… I never _knew…"_

_**TBC...**_

**Now I've really set the cat amongst the pigeons, eh?**

**Is he, or isn't he?**

**As promised, this is the chapter with the most potentially damaging revelation. Whether or not it's true is entirely up to the reader to decide, and I look forward to hearing your opinions on this matter (grins).**

**Cheers everyone.**

**Love ST xxx**


	23. Chapter 23

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 23**

_**Now…**_

**Jim and Bobby share an astonished look. This is obviously news to them, but they wisely decline to comment.**

**Sam takes in a shuddering breath and exhales slowly through his snout, the memory of that event and the news it procured obviously still burning a little too bright.**

**It's silent for a while as hunters and werewolves alike chew it over. **

**Jim Murphy is staring up at the night sky, eyes slightly narrow in contemplation, while Bobby is studying the forest beyond their camp.**

**Sam, as usual, is gazing soulfully into the fire, eyes soft and sad, while his red fur is stroked and groomed by Dean's long, gentle fingers.**

**The three pups, Arthur, Matthew and Logan, having long since grown a little bored with all the talking and lazing around, are quietly play fighting over by the cabin. Arthur appears to be teaching the young wolves some hunting basics, and is showing them how to stalk their prey. **

**One might get a deep sense of camaraderie and loyal friendship already forming between these three, something any Alphas and Betas would be wise to take note of.**

**Their prey, however, seems a little worse for wear. One eye is missing, as is one leg, and its' fur has definitely seen better days, but the pups don't seem to mind these imperfections.**

"**Thought that would keep the little guys out of mischief for a while," Dean turns his head slightly to watch them play with the stuffed toy, and his mouth quirks in an amused smile. "Hey, Sam? You remember Ted, right? Our friendly, mutilated training buddy?"**

**Sam shifts his head a little on Dean's knee to gaze up at him.**

"**Sure you do," Dean chuckles, softly. "It's how we met Gerald for the first time, huh? Scared the living shit out of you, as I recall, going head to head with a real live bear taking a full on crap in the woods."**

**Sam huffs, grumbles, narrows his eyes and glares at his _fatherbrother._**

"**Ok, ok!" Dean capitulates, with a laugh. "He made you 'a little nervous'. _Right_."**

**Bobby Singer throws another log on the fire and pulls a bottle of bourbon from his backpack. He takes a long, healthy swig and passes it to Dean.**

"**Here," he grunts. "Drink and talk."**

**Dean's smile fades and he takes the hint. Upending the bottle, he swallows half of it down and wipes his mouth. But before he continues, there's something he needs to ask.**

"**You ok, Sammy?" he raises an eyebrow at the red wolf. "You want me to stop it here?"**

**The younger wolf just blinks and Dean nods.**

"**Your call, dude."**

_**Then…**_

Sire hadn't known 'til now. That was clear from the misery on his face. This was as much news to him as it was to the rest of us.

But, Sam...

"I was never a Winchester," Sam sniffed and gulped, still clutching at his mutilated arm. "I was a werewolf all along..."

"Nah, Sammy," John informed him with a disgusted smirk. "You were a half-breed with demon blood. Your inner wolf was lying dormant. Given a couple more years, your true nature would've emerged, and if I'd known back then? I'd have been more than happy to put a silver bullet in you. It was only Dean, here," he sneered at me "who hurried things up a little."

Sam flinched at his tone and hung his head, in despair or shame I couldn't tell.

But John had more to tell us. And tell us he did, with great delight.

After Tobius ripped out his throat, John went straight to hell. No surprises there.

When Tobius sent Gordon Walker down to join him, Hell began recruiting spies and agents, gathering their forces and tracking down all the special kids. With Sam being a target, John readily volunteered and made it his personal job to bring Sam down. The kid was meant to take his rightful seat as Duke of the Ninth Circle of Hell. The Ninth Circle is the most powerful; it's the one reserved for traitors and betrayers, and it's also the one that holds the key to releasing the Morning Star himself.

Ok. Slow it down for the Devil's advocate here, (pun intended):

My guess is, if it were true then Azazel either knew or didn't care. Sam was always his number one target. Maybe it was even an important little detail needed to bring Sam to the role.

I mean... a duke of hell? Big Scary Title, right?

Something a half-breed werewolf of royal lineage, with an important dash of demon blood, would have been perfect for?

A soul that screwed up might've been like gold dust way down south of Heaven.

Once I turned Sam, it didn't really matter to Azazel that Sam was no longer even _part_ human, or that he might no longer have the all important demon blood. It was an annoying inconvenience that could be fixed; it was never too late. He still wanted him. That Sam still had his powers made Azazel all the more determined to bring him back into the fold, by capturing, and eventually fully or partially humanizing the kid by re-infection with demon blood.

Who knows? I'm just guessing here.

But because the kid's will had unexpectedly proved too powerful in the past, something stronger and more robust was needed.

Apparently, Sleepworm had been the first step on the path, the stuff that would make Sam vulnerable to transformation and addiction.

And John had been more than happy to assist.

So, you see, one after the other, everything we thought we knew about our past took a tumble. John kept knocking us down at every turn; it was exhausting, and debilitating, just listening to him.

Sire gazed in silence at the kid who might once have been his boy, his _son._

Sam was in shock, suffering from severe blood loss and the loss of everything he once held not-so-dear.

Staring at first my Sire then my son, I realised in that instant that it didn't matter.

Not one bit.

So what if Tobius had _once _been Sam's _real_ father? None of that counts. Not with me or werewolf lore.

_I_ am Sam's father now.

The rest is just _history_.

When I changed Sam into a full werewolf, I _changed_ it all for the better.

Little wonder being turned by a sibling, albeit maybe only a half-brother, hadn't killed the boy. Instead, he'd survived and flourished, and in time he'd grown into a beautiful, strong, kind hearted wolf and formidable hunter.

So, no. It didn't matter to me. Everything was as it was supposed to be and I couldn't be prouder.

I am Sire's son.

Sire is Sam's grandfather.

And if John thought, even for a moment, that this new knowledge would weaken our pack, our _bond_, he was quite mistaken.

Because in my mind, it meant that we were connected by blood all along.

Before we even knew of the existence of Tobius Le Salle, Duke of Normandy and Aquitaine, we were already a part of him.

Because of Mary.

We were destined to come together as family.

As _Pack._

The demon had finally overplayed his hand.

No. His news hadn't made us weaker.

It had only made us stronger.

_Sammy…_I whispered.

The poor kid looked over at me, eyes filled with hurt and desperation, while John hovered like a vulture, grinning with triumph and sickening glee.

Sam just blinked owlishly, too overwhelmed by pain and confusion to respond, so I summoned the most supportive, most loving, patient and kindest smile I could manage under the circumstances, and told him everything he needed to know.

_You're mine. _

_My son, my blood, my reason for everything. _

_You've __**always**__ been __mine, even when we were human, and no one can take that away_.

_**No one can take you away from me!**_

Sam nodded weakly, a small amount of hope blossoming in his eyes.

_Touching though this is, I've got a job to do,_ John interrupted, sounding bored. _So if you don't mind, Sam, I thought I'd have myself some fun before we get down to business._

He chuckled loudly.

"If it's all the same with you," He grinned at Sam, raised the sword and readied for another attack. "I'll take you back to Hell one piece at a time!"

Sam tried to move but he'd lost too much blood and the silver had knocked him for six. He collapsed onto his side, panting heavily, unable to move, run or defend himself.

I struggled harder but no matter what I tried, I just couldn't break free. "Sam..."

"_Sammy_..._rrrrrreeeoooowwwlllllllllllll!_" Tobius suddenly roared, his neck muscles straining, fangs digging into his own bottom lip drew blood, claws extended outwards and raked deep trenches in the stone wall either side of him.

He was freeing himself, slowly but surely, his anger and fear over-riding all rational thought, and fighting the demon's hold on him. His narrowed eyes glowed like green fire, face scrunched up in fury, and as John's sword swept upwards, Tobius, fully wolfed out, wrenched himself away from the wall, howling and roaring like a monster from your worst nightmare.

I'd seen this before, when Archy attacked us at the cabin, but this time there was something even more terrifying about it.

About _Tobius._

It all seemed to happen in slow motion.

John's sword reached its' zenith and began the downwards swing, Sam closed his eyes and turned his head away, resigned to his fate. Tobius leapt, growling and snapping at the demon. His goal was obvious.

_Sire no!_

Just as the sword tip punctured Sire's chest, the door crashed open and in walked our salvation. The Canadian Pack Alpha and his Beta stood on either side of Cook like a protective guard of honour, all three of them fully wolfed out.

Before John could press his advantage and ram the sword deep into Sire's heart, Missouri Moseley growled angrily, raised her right paw and the sword was torn free, taking a chunk of Tobius with it. It whirled away and I heard it clatter along the floor on the far side of the room. Finally, the demon was swept up and pinned to the ceiling, his black eyes going wide with shock.

I dropped away from the wall, landing awkwardly in a heap on the floor. First thing I did was find that damn silver sword by Marcus' desk, and kicked it out onto the balcony as far away from the demon as I could get. I swore I was gonna have that damn thing melted down, locked away in a cursed strong box, and dumped in the nearest deep ocean.

Sire sank to his knees beside Sam, clutching one hand to his own chest wound, the other gently brushing the hair back from Sam's face.

"Pup, can you hear me?" he whispered, eyes running over Sam's prone form from head to toe. "Come on, child, open your eyes."

I heard Sam's soft whimper of pain and glanced over to see his eyes opened to tiny blue-green slits, searching the room, seeking me out.

_Dean…_

Not even sparing the demon a glance, I strode over to my injured _son, _pulled him up off the floor and cradled him gently in my arms.

"Just take it easy, Sammy" I crooned, then caught Sire's eye.

He looked pale and sick, the consequence of his own run in with silver.

"How you doing there, Sire?" I asked, softly.

"Had worse. I'll live. Feeling better already," he answered with a strained voice, smiling weakly. "But we should check Sam's arm for silver."

Right. Check for silver… I looked down at the wounded appendage and tried not to grimace. Where to start?

His arm was a mess, almost completely severed from the shoulder. Muscle and sinew was exposed and arterial blood swamped the entire wound, saturating the Persian style rug underneath Sam's body. It was hard to see anything because there was so much blood.

"We'll need to flush it out," said Missouri, changing back to human and picking up a discarded blanket to wrap around herself. "Lay him on the sofa and I'll call the doc."

"Why bother?" came John's voice from the ceiling, and he laughed at me when I looked up and sent him a murderous glare. "He doesn't have to be your concern, your _burden_ any longer. Let the little shit go with me. I'll take good care of him."

His leer made me want to throw up.

Missouri's right hand came up and mimicked a mid-air slap. John's head snapped to one side with the force of it, lip bursting and spraying blood around. He opened his mouth, no doubt to return with some derisive comment or insult, but blinked in surprise when nothing came out. Black smoke billowed and waned as he tried to escape, but Cook had him bound good and tight.

"You just shut your noise, asshole!" Cook told him, and even Sire raised his eyebrows at that. Clearly it was a rare occurrence to hear the lady cussing so vehemently. "I'll deal with you later."

_Dean… _Sam whispered to me, staring up at the body of his close friend, reanimated by John Winchester. _Cornelius... Is he really dead?_

I followed his gaze and studied the pallor of Cornelius' skin. There was nothing to tell me either way, but somehow I knew the answer.

_Yeah, Sammy,_ I replied, sadly. _I think John was telling the truth about that._

Sam blinked back tears, let out a soft sigh and his body went limp.

"He's passed out, poor boy," said Marcus, supporting Tobius with an arm round his shoulders, and nodded to Castiel. "Fetch the brandy would you?"

Castiel, silent and brooding as always, crossed the room and fished out a fresh bottle. He twisted off the plastic seal, uncorked the lid, and poured some into a crystal tumbler.

"Here, brother," he murmured and brought the tumbler back over to Sire. "You'll feel better in no time."

Missouri, having called Dave the doc, grabbed Sam's legs and helped me lift him onto the sofa. He remained unconscious and sprawled out in my lap, head hanging over the crook of my elbow, blood smeared up his neck and across his face.

Tobius took a small sip of the brandy then passed it on to me, pressing it against my mouth when it became apparent that I had my hands full.

"Do you think he'll be ok?" I asked, after a swift gulp, badly in need of reassurance.

Sire crouched down beside us and chewed absently on his lip before answering.

"Honestly? I don't think any of us will ever be the same again. Not after this."

It was a simple statement, sadly uttered without drama or preamble and yet, at the time, it felt like one of those life changing speeches that some great leader would make.

Yeah. Corny, I know.

I stared hard at Sire and lowered my voice. "What John told us, about you and Sam...?"

Tobius sighed. "I just don't know. He might well be lying through his stolen fangs, Dean," he rubbed at his chin for a second then dropped his hand down between his knees. "But if he isn't…" he shrugged, wearily. "It doesn't change a thing, as far as I'm concerned."

It was the effect this would have on Sammy that worried us.

I could sense the demon above us, held captive to the ceiling by Missouri's mind mojo, no doubt listening in and studying our reactions. Tobius' eyes flickered upwards, a mere glance at John, but then he turned his gaze back on me and gave me a very slight nod.

"This stays between us," he said, softly. "We don't talk about it at all, at least until Sam's feeling well enough to. No one else needs to know at this stage. Even if it _was_ true, human lore has no place here. Sam is my grandchild, and you are my son. That's the truth of the situation, now. That's all that counts."

Although his tone was demanding, I could see the insecurity in his eyes. He genuinely needed my support and understanding, and so did Sam. If we let it, this… _thing_… this _new_ piece of possible history that had come to light, could easily tear us apart.

"You know I am, Dad," I whispered, tentatively, aware of just what I was doing.

Sire's eyes widened with shock, but were soon joined by a small, boyish smile that lit up his face and made him look years younger.

"Thank you, son," he replied, happily.

We might never know the truth because all blood evidence had been long ago erased when I turned Sammy into a full werewolf, into my _son_.

And even if it _were_ true, that was in the past.

Sam's still _my_ kid. You gonna argue with that?

'Cos Tobius sure won't.

The Doc strode into the room, eyes narrowed and eyebrows drawn down into a deep frown of concern. He stopped dead in his tracks when he caught sight of Sam, and gulped.

His gaze centred on Sam's arm, the vast amount of blood, and the colour seemed to leech from his face. That got me worried... ya know, like I wasn't worried already?

Dropping his medical bag onto the coffee table, he leaned down and carefully studied the wound.

"Well, Doc?" I asked, falsely jovial, trying to lighten the atmosphere after a few minutes of awkward silence. "Any good?"

But Dave shook his head, took a deep breath, and delivered the bad news.

"I'm sorry but it's been almost completely disconnected from his heart. See?"

He wiped blood away from the injured limb and showed me something really friggin' strange.

"His arm has reverted to human and all his old scars have been reinstated," he said, apologetically. "There's no point in trying to save it because it's already dead. Pretty soon it will begin to decompose."

He gestured to the fingertips where they had not only turned black and blue, but the fingers themselves had stiffened up as rigormortis quickly set in, and the skin was sunken and grey.

"In fact, it's already begun the process." Dave cast sorrowful eyes at me. "Sorry mate, but we'll have to remove it soon before it causes him even more pain."

I stared down at it in dismay.

The arm was twisted from old breaks that hadn't been given the chance to heal properly. Scars from burns, cuts and lacerations, all magically returned like a map of Sam's history. Everything that had been done to him by John before Sam became a (full?) werewolf was now on display for everyone to see.

"Y-you mean Sammy's gonna lose his arm?" I asked, eyes filling with tears.

Guess I was pretty slow at catching on, but… _God!_

"'Fraid so," Dave replied, solemnly. "A temporary state, but inconvenient nonetheless."

"You…" I began, then stopped and stared at him in shock. "What did you just say?"

Dave shrugged and patted my shoulder. "Yeah, I know and I'm sorry," he said, with genuine sympathy. "It's not gonna be easy. These things never are."

Surely, I was missing something, and for Dave to be so blasé over losing an arm…

I shook my head. "C-come again?"

"Bone regeneration," he answered with a frown. "It's not ideal and re-growing limbs involve weeks of agony, but these are exceptional circumstances. I'm sure I can give him something to manage the pain until the new arm is fully restored."

I blinked. "Huh?"

"Ah… yes… erm…" Tobius interrupted before Dave could explain and I raised a _seriously_ demanding eyebrow at him.

"Werewolves can grow replacement limbs," Tobius cleared his throat and looked distinctly guilty. "I must have forgotten to mention that when I first turned you." He smiled sheepishly then threw up the jazz hands. "Ta Da!"

Sire watched me carefully, presumably checking for signs of an imminent hissy fit.

"Um… _surprise?" _he added, hopefully, no doubt trying to mollify me.

Whatever he was expecting, I think I disappointed him and everyone else who was watching me for a reaction.

Sam's mangled arm was the last thing I saw before the room started spinning, my gut turned over and the world went dark.

In short, I passed out.

When I woke up again, I was in a different room.

There was the large stone fire place, with a nice blaze keeping the place warm - which seemed to be a statutory feature around werewolves - a drinks cabinet in dark oak, various decorative weapons lining the walls, but most notable was the fact that I was in a soft bed, covered in warm furs.

"Dude, apparently you fainted like a girl," came a smug voice to my left.

I carefully turned my head and glared at the face grinning back at me.

"I did not _faint_," I answered, sounding a little snooty and defensive even to my ears. "I just… took some time out."

Sam's grin widened. "Whatever you say, Dean."

Sammy was sitting up next to me reading from a book in his right hand, while his left arm was a stump, presumably bulky with bandages. The sleeve of his button down shirt was pinned over his heart, giving Sam a strange air of authority and vulnerability all at once.

I nodded to where his arm should have been.

"How's it feel?" I said, awkward as hell for asking.

'Cos let's face it, it wasn't exactly gonna feel _good,_ now, was it?

Sam's smile faltered and guilt started eating away at me anew.

"Well, it hurt like a bastard at first and I couldn't sleep. It was driving me crazy, but Dave's been giving me some powerful meds, so now?" he shrugged and that smile suddenly re-emerged at full wattage. "The pain's completely H_armless_."

How did this kid outgrow me exactly?

"Sonofabitch!" I growled. "I was gonna use that… like, _much_ later on. Sammy, you are _so_ inappropriate right now!"

The kid chuckled. "It's not inappropriate when it's _me_ saying it," he tapped his stump, making my stomach churn a little. "And besides, I'm growing a new one, so I'm _allowed_ to joke about it."

A soft grumble came from the bottom of the bed, and I looked up to see Tobius stretched out in wolf form.

_I see someone's awake at last,_ he said and rolled on his back, head coming up to gaze at me, green eyes twinkling with merriment. _Had quite enough sleep, have you?_

I snorted, sarcastically. "And what were you just doing? Yoga?"

Sire laughed and wriggled his furry behind at me. _Seriously, how are you feeling? You were out for several hours. Exhaustion, no doubt._

"Forget about me," I replied with a huff. "Sam…"

"I'm _fine_, Dean," the kid answered with an eye roll. "I woke up a few hours ago."

"Ok," I nodded slowly then glanced quickly between Sam and Tobius. "And?"

They knew what I was talking about. It had to have been playing on Sam's mind from the moment he regained consciousness.

Something like this sure would've bugged the hell out of me. It would haunt me for the rest of my days, not knowing for certain where I really came from, who I'd once really belonged to.

For me, it's a sense of security, knowing that if nothing else in the world stayed the same, your own personal roots would never change. That was important to me.

But then, my experience of John Winchester in the early years was very different from Sam's, which is a little shocking when you consider that we both grew up with the guy.

"Well," Sam replied at last, swallowing hard. "Like Grandpa said, we'll never really know the truth, so what's the point in worrying about it?"

As I suspected, Sam was glad to be rid of John and any connection he might have had to him. Kid didn't have many happy memories with his, I suppose you could call him, _foster_ dad.

But now he had a real father in me, and a grandfather in Tobius.

I suddenly did the classic double take. With pleasure, I might add.

He called Tobius _Grandpa_.

They'd obviously had words before I came round. Somehow they'd worked things out, learned to understand each other.

I might even let you know about that someday... once I've wormed the rest of it out of Sam...

It was a good start for all of us.

Given everything that had happened to us during the course of our lives, no matter how messed up our family might seem, I guess we counted ourselves lucky we still had each other.

That's all you can really ask for in this world, immortal or not.

Of course, duty and love and all that other crap?

Comes with a price and it might well be worth it.

_**TBC...**_

**I hope that's answered some of your questions and doubts, though as already pointed out: _no one knows for sure and it's doubtful they ever will!_**

**Also, judging by some of your comments, some of you seem to be labouring under some misunderstandings. **

**I feel I should clear up a few of these for you:**

**Dean is Sam's father in every sense. They are _not_ brothers, they merely include the term 'brother' in their relationship ('fatherbrother' and 'brotherson') out of respect for the brotherly bond that existed between them when they were human. **

**Even if John was telling the truth, Tobius is _still_ Dean's father, and _still_ grandfather to Sam. **

**In other words, the terms _father_ and _grandfather_ are not just for show, they are literal.**

**Also, at the risk of disappointing people, and whilst I'm delighted and impressed with the enthusiasm, I should stress that this story has been mostly pre-written and, therefore, any suggestions or requests made of the next chapter cannot be taken into consideration.**

**Cheers for all the wonderful reviews everyone! I thoroughly enjoyed reading them. Your strength of feeling and passion for this story are wonderfully overwhelming.**

**Now, show me some love if you want the next one anytime soon, 'cos I've had a shite week so far, with my boss victimizing and harrassing me into a near total meltdown... seriously, I was so angry I had to go home and calm down with a bottle of scotch. I honestly wanted to hit him. I've already had one nervous breakdown partly because of him, and I swear to God I was heading for another yesterday!**

**So, please review 'cos it helps to cheer me up and keep me from killing either the boss or myself!**

**Love ST xxx**


	24. Chapter 24

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 24**

**NB: only two chapters left after this one, folks!**

_**Now…**_

"**I _see_," says Bobby, shaggy eyebrows almost disappearing through his sparse hairline. "That sure was one hell of a claim on John's part."**

**Pastor Jim looks thoughtful. "Be honest. _Do_ you believe it?" he asks of the boys.**

**Dean shrugs. "I'm sort of caught half way in and out on that one."**

"**It's certainly not impossible, I guess," Sam replies, slowly. "But werewolf lore trumps human every time." He smiles, serenely. "While Dean was out cold, Tobius and I had a talk. The upshot is I've got the family I never knew I wanted, and that's all I'll ever need."**

"**Sappy Bitch," Dean grumbles and nudges his _brotherson _with an elbow, but his eyes twinkle with fond amusement.**

"**Button it, Jerk," says Sam with equal humour.**

**After a few more good-natured insults are exchanged, Dean's face turns serious and his eyes settle on the camera.**

"**I guess you guys want to know what happened to Crowley," he shakes his head, now a little angry. "Truth is, so do we. We've got… _questions _we'd like to ask that lowlife sonofabitch…"**

_**Then…**_

Dave was spot on when he'd told us that Sam was in for weeks of agony. The new arm was growing slowly, in short, painful spurts every few days or so and Sammy's fever spiked each time: that infamous, useful, werewolf healing process taken to extremes.

Trouble was, Sam needed lots of fuel to help the re-growth but the pain dulled his appetite to the point where eating often made him puke. Even the powerful meds administered by the doc, extra healing mojo offered by Bobby, psychic pain intervention by Missouri… none of it could match the sheer unadulterated agony that Sam went through with each and every growth period.

I'm not kidding you when I say that sometimes it was possible to hear it; the bone, muscle and skin tissues all regenerating. Sam would writhe in pain, his hair damp with sweat; tears poured down his face, and he'd bite down hard on his tongue to keep from screaming. All the while the bandaged limb made the most horrible and disgusting noises: crackling, squelching, tearing… and the blood. There was just so much of it. I think the animal skins were changed out around ten times a day during those periods, and Sam's sleep pants and tee-shirts had to be washed and dried just as many times. In fact, when Tobius requested a couple more sets Marcus _himself, _with Castiel accompanying him, took a trip into the nearest town. They returned several hours later with around fifty sets of soft, warm sleep clothes. Just for Sam.

Nevertheless, the laundry service was still working over time to keep up, and regularly sent runners to deliver the freshly laundered bedding and clothes. Their eyes often bugged right out of their heads at the sheer mountain of blood stained laundry they took away with them.

Those troubled days passed by slowly, but we hardly had to leave Sam's side unless we were ordered out on a hunt by the Pack doctor for the sake of our health. Even then, we always waited until the kid was asleep and made sure Bobby and Jim, the Werebears, or Lucas and Vicky were watching over him.

Sammy had to take his changes slowly because it was so painful. By the time he made it to wolf form he'd be lying panting and exhausted on the bed, and that's where he would stay. My heart broke every time, seeing that space where his furry left forward limb should have been.

In spite of it all, the subject of Crowley was never far from our thoughts, and some nights, when he was feeling up to it, Sam and I would lie there awake, quietly discussing it.

Several times Sammy and I asked about the demon, tried to find out what they were going to do about Crowley, but we were just told that things were 'in hand'.

John was secured in a Devil's trap awaiting judgment, we were safe and weren't to worry ourselves about it.

As you can imagine, that went down like a lead fart since we don't like being kept in the dark about anything, and we were half tempted to find out on our own. However, Sam was barely strong enough to walk let alone conduct an investigation around the Pack grounds, and I wasn't about to leave him all alone.

Even Tobius was being cagey about it all, and refused to comment. Several times he'd reluctantly left us in Marcus' sleeping quarters when summoned to the Council Chambers, and was often gone long into the night. No matter how much we badgered and harassed him on his return, he maintained a troubled silence.

In the mean time, food was brought to us personally by Missouri; Bobby slept on Marcus' couch in the study next door, refusing to leave us in case he was needed for anything – 'anything at all, just ask. I mean it, ya idgits!' – and he was often joined by Lucas, Vicky and the three pups: Arthur, Matthew and Logan.

Pastor Jim Murphy, by special Pack dispensation, was allowed to visit the underground archives to bring Sam some reading material for when he was awake. The kid soaked it all up like a sponge, but then he loves that kind of stuff. I guess it was also something to take his mind off the pain.

Lenore very occasionally dropped by. We didn't really know her all that well, 'cos we'd only really met her a few times, but she was a trusted ally to our pack and old friends with Tobius.

Turned out that, in spite of her often austere and solemn appearance, she had a great sense of humour, was a big fan of Buffy, and had a mischievous side to her that we never would have guessed at. She jumped straight into the prank wars, by targeting Sire, Marcus and Castiel whenever the opportunity arose. Water bucket above the door, whoopee cushions, fake dog turd, cling film on the toilet… you name it.

Like I said, her visits were very occasional. Sam suspected, correctly as it happened, that most of her time was spent organising and directing the hunting parties in order to catch Crowley.

Tobius and I slept, watched TV, hovered, mother-henned, nagged and generally drove Sammy out of his mind in between the growth spurts, just trying to get him to eat, but while they were happening, well, there wasn't much we could do for him. We just curled up on the bed in wolf form, one of us either side of him, gently licked away at his sweat and tears, and reassured the kid that he wasn't alone.

More time passed and Sam's painful healing continued on its not-so-merry way and, eventually, we did find out what was going on with John and Crowley.

I guess the others didn't want to bother or worry us, given what Sam was going through at the time, but a couple days after Sam's second painful growth period, I overheard a conversation between Bobby, Missouri and Pastor Jim, right outside our door. I was just coming back from the bathroom after a shower, when I stopped and heard soft voices coming from Marcus' study.

Actually, conversation was probably an underestimation. It was more of an argument.

"I think _we_ should deal with this," Pastor Jim was saying, calmly. "Tobius, Sam and Dean have enough on their plates."

"I see what you're saying," groused Bobby, obviously _not_ seeing it at all. "But those boys have a right to be there!"

"It's not fair to expect that of them," Jim insisted, a little more forcefully this time. "This was their _friend_ you're talking about, not to mention the demon…"

"Exactly! And let's not forget that this was _their own personal battle_!" Bobby said, heatedly. "What right have we got to take this away from them? They ain't kids. They're fully grown men, now, no matter what Marcus says about Pack lore." Then added, grumbling: "Shoulda told 'em what was going on in the first damn place."

There was a pause before someone sighed.

"He's right, Jim," Cook agreed, kindly. "Tragic though it will be for them, they need this kind of closure. Lord only knows where else they'll find it, given what happened with Crowley…"

At that point I swung open the door and scowled at all three of them.

"Exactly what _did_ happen with Crowley?" I asked. In the room behind me I heard a rustling noise as Sam sat up in bed.

Missouri, Bobby and Jim exchanged nervous glances, but it was Missouri who spoke up.

"Honey, come and sit down," she said, gently. Eyes quickly glancing over my shoulder at Sam, she gestured for me to join them in the lounge, but I shook my head.

"No, you come and sit down in _our_ room, and you explain to us both just what the hell that was all about?" I demanded.

Turning away without another word, and ignoring the looks the three of them gave each other, I winked at Sam who appeared worried and tired, clutching at his sore stump.

_Dean? _He asked, anxiously._ Everything ok?_

_Nothing to worry about, Sam,_ I reassured him with a quick grin, then dumped myself down beside him on the bed. _Just that it seems these guys have some news for us. Sounded important._

"Uh… ok," Sam replied, sounding uncertain. He nervously watched as the two human hunters and Cook filed into the room, and all three sat down looking a little guilty.

This time, it was Bobby who filled us in.

"Captain Byrnes was discovered outside the main doors around an hour post-battle, still alive but only just," Singer informed us, eyebrows drawn down in anger and sadness. "Poor bastard passed away not long after."

He hadn't met the guy, but he'd obviously heard about his courage and sacrifice in the line of duty. The late Captain had earned Bobby Singer's highest degree of respect.

"The silver had passed deep into his blood stream and he only lived long enough to leave a message from Crowley, all scrunched up in his hand."

It was a poem, just like the one received via an arrow to the chest by the young guard before the battle began.

A really _bad_ poem.

_Not this time and not this place,_

_Not this wolf and not this face._

_You'll not see me coming, but you'll hear my dance,_

_Forever more, dear Alphas, I'll seek my chance._

Sad thing was, it turned out the Captain hadn't been possessed by John Winchester after all. Crowley used him as bait, sure, and drugged the poor guy with Sleepworm, hence the weird eyes I'd seen from the balcony. But it was just an ordinary Sleepworm spirit. The Captain was Crowley's decoy to divert suspicion away from the real demon host: Cornelius.

Apparently, after disabling cannon and taking out its' crew, the sabotage squad ran into a squad of Type Ones on reconnaissance and, after a brief skirmish that ended the life of Sergeant Fisher, Captain Byrnes was taken prisoner. The other two NLSUs, as we found out towards the end of the battle, had been on Crowley's side all along.

As for Crowley himself, he'd last been seen by Bobby Singer and Jim Murphy outside the main doors. Apparently, the little rat never even made it onto Pack grounds during the battle. He stayed well back and out of harms way, and as soon as it looked like his army was losing, he ran for it. Several vamps and Type Twos took off in pursuit, but the bastard was too fast for them and disappeared into the Canadian wilderness.

Regular, heavily armed, hunting parties had been sent out after him ever since, but no one had yet caught wind of him. The entire Pack ground was on high alert, with strengthened Devil's traps and protection sigils, courtesy of Bobby.

Lenore of the passive Florida vamp nest had joined the War Council temporarily in order to consult with the Alpha on security matters and was, in fact, in command of the squad guarding John Winchester.

The damaged walls and buildings were being rapidly repaired and reinforced. The NLSU, Longbow, Crossbow and guards divisions, all of whom had taken heavy losses during the battle, had taken on five hundred brand new eager trainees, almost tripling the original number.

There's nothing like a war to inspire a call to the colours, as Bobby had rather cynically remarked at this point, earning a furious glare from Cook.

"Life doesn't always have to be about fightin'," she told him, curtly.

Bobby eyed her with some respect, but judging by the look on her face she still didn't like his response:

"Yes." He replied, simply. "It does."

Can't really argue with either of them, 'cos they're both right...

But the security measures didn't stop there.

Missouri and Dave introduced random Sleepworm testing of the Pack, and stringent testing of all newcomers or those who had been off the Grounds for any length of time.

Marcus wasn't taking any chances of a repeat performance from Crowley.

"Whether or not we've really seen the last of Crowley is up for discussion," said Pastor Jim. "But his ridiculous poem suggests that after he's licked his wounds and reassessed his situation, he'll be back someday."

Sam's simple reaction was met with raised eyebrows.

_Let him._ He nodded with grim satisfaction._ We'll be ready._

I smothered a proud grin, but fully agreed.

Then there came the nasty business of John.

"What are they planning to do with him?" asked Sam, frowning.

Bobby and Jim wanted to send him back to hell where he belonged, but Missouri had other ideas.

"You send him down there and he'll just bide his time before popping right back up again," she said, hotly, just as Jim and Bobby both began shaking their heads.

"What do you propose we do?" asked the priest, sounding a little frustrated. "Keep him imprisoned inside a devil's trap for the rest of eternity?"

Sam and I glanced at each other. Neither of us liked that idea.

"Any other options?" Sam asked, looking from one to the other.

"No, but we can bind him with Sleepworm," said Missouri. "And keep him under lock and key that way. This place has plenty of empty vaults and I know Bobby here has some virtually foolproof locking spells and curses that could hold him."

That didn't feel right either. Even if John couldn't get himself out, there was always the possibility that someone could find their way in. And what if Crowley did one day re-emerge, and came back? Supposing he realised that his former partner in crime was being held here? With those two on the loose and working together, it wouldn't take much to start that shit all over again.

I wanted Sam to feel safe, but if John Winchester ever got free he'd hunt us down. This time, Sammy only lost an arm; next time we might not be so lucky.

"What's going on in here?" said Tobius, jovially, and peered inside the open bedroom door. "Not interrupting anything are we?"

Three familiar figures crowded round behind him.

"These guys were just trying to figure out what to do with John," said Sam, and gestured to Bobby, Jim and Missouri. "They can't seem to agree."

Smile fading, Tobius stared at his grandson, no doubt noting Sam's pale face and haunted eyes. After a second or two, Sire nodded and entered the room to come and sit beside us both on the bed.

Castiel, Marcus and Lenore followed on silently but hovered in the background.

Tobius grasped Sam's good hand, and rubbed my shoulder.

"What do you think _should_ be done with him?" he asked us, quietly, then tilted his head in question.

Sam bit his lip and stared down at his lap, while I just watched him.

This was Sam's call to make, and make it he did.

He looked up with a determined expression on his face.

"There's no question," he said. "We can't afford to show mercy to demons. We can't send him back, but we can't risk trying to hold him."

I frowned. "Then what?"

Sam's smile was grim. "Aren't you forgetting what did _this?"_

He pointed to his stump, and it finally dawned on me what he was getting at.

"Of _course…" _I breathed, while Sire nodded in agreement.

"So far as we can figure out, it outright killed Azazel back at Mont Noir," said Sam, and shrugged. "That was a high level demon and John was in his employ, so it must follow that the same sword could be used to put John Winchester down. _Permanently._"

And to think, I'd been prepared to destroy that damn thing once and for all, but Sam's injury had kind of distracted me. Last time I'd seen it, Marcus had picked it up off the balcony and locked it away in a steel safe in his study.

So all was fine, except…

"Sammy," I said, gently, and cupped the side of his neck. "You realise what this means, right?"

I know he's not stupid. He knew exactly what I was talking about, but I needed him to tell me straight that he understood what was going on. Kid had spent days drugged up to the eyeballs on pain meds, and I didn't want to screw him up anymore than he already was.

Sam's eyes glistened with moisture, but he stubbornly blinked back his tears.

"Don't get me wrong," he said, hoarsely. "I'm not ok with this, but Cornelius is dead and he deserves to be laid to rest like the warrior he was, and with the proper Pack honours. He can't ever have that with John locked down inside of him."

I nodded and touched my forehead to his.

"Ok, dude," I told him. "I'm with you on this."

A grim task lay ahead of us, and we had to be strong for each other. For Cornelius.

"If you'll permit me," Castiel suddenly spoke up from the back of the room. "I would be happy to assist you in this matter."

"No," Sam answered sharply, but softened his tone when Castiel looked a little shocked and offended. "I mean, thank you for the offer, but no. This is something Dean and I need to do. Alone."

He was right. This was our grisly honour.

Out the corner of my eye, I saw Missouri and Bobby nod their agreement, whereas Pastor Jim just looked sad. I could understand where the priest was coming from, and I was touched by his protectiveness, but Missouri had been right when she said we needed closure.

Castiel hesitated, then bowed his head. "As you wish, my nephews."

An awkward silence followed where everyone contemplated what was coming. I don't think there was a person in that room who wouldn't have given their eye teeth in order to take our place.

Marcus cleared his throat and asked the dreaded question.

"When would you…?" but he was interrupted almost straight away.

"How about now?" Sam asked, and started throwing back the blankets.

"Sam…" I began, shocked, but like Marcus I didn't get very far.

"It's a good a time as any, Dean" he replied, staring at me sadly. "The sooner we can get this over with, the sooner Cornelius can go home."

He slipped out of bed and held out his one remaining hand. "C'mon," he said. "It's not fair to keep him like that…"

Grumbling, I allowed him to tug me to my feet.

We argued over it all the way to the dungeon cell, deep beneath the Council Chambers, where an iron reinforced devil's trap kept John Winchester imprisoned.

Dave, Lucas and Vicky were summoned along the way.

The Home Pack Alpha and his Lady hugged us tightly, tears in their eyes, and remained silent, as though speaking would be too much for them. They'd lost an excellent Pack Beta and close friend in Cornelius, so their hearts had to be breaking more so than ours. This was the tortured pup they had rescued from a human hunter and watched grow into a fine young wolf. He was like a son to them.

Sam proudly kept his head up, footsteps mostly firm and even. Though every now and then he faltered, his face pale with pain and fatigue, he kept moving onwards.

I carried the sword at my side, not willing to let go of it once Marcus had retrieved it from the safe and handed it over to me, but I offered it to Lucas nonetheless. He had been Cornelius' Alpha, after all, but the older wolf shook his head.

_I'm sorry, _and he sniffed, barely holding on to his composure,_ but I just can't do it._

I understood. If it had been Sam, I'm not sure I could have done this either.

By the time we got to the Council Chambers, I noticed Sam's bandage had leaked a small amount of blood. Another burst of healing was on its way.

"Sammy, you sure you wanna do this right now?" I asked him, quietly so no one else could hear.

Sam blew out a quick breath, and I knew he was already in a good deal of pain.

"I have to," he replied, with a stubborn tilt of the head. "I want John to see this. I want him to know that he didn't break me, that nothing he says or does can hurt me. Not anymore."

But that wasn't entirely true, and we both knew it. John's death would equate to watching Cornelius die, but that was the least we could do.

I gazed at Sam for a moment. "Yeah, ok."

As we moved inside the building and Castiel led the way to the dungeon cells, Tobius and I flanked Sam, not helping or touching him at his request, but ready to catch him just in case. Marcus, Missouri and the Doc marched quietly along behind us, with Lenore, Bobby and Pastor Jim following on.

Castiel approached a set of iron double doors emblazoned with the Pack motif, and raised the wolf-shaped knocker three times, slow and loud.

"Halt! Who goes there!"An authoritative voice called out from behind the doors.

"Castiel, Pack Beta, in the presence of our Lord Alpha and His Grace the Duke of Aquitaine and Normandy_._" Castiel informed the guard, smartly, then added a little uncertainly "Er… and guests."

There came a few loud clanks, and the doors slowly opened up.

The guard bowed his head respectfully as we were herded inside by the Pack Beta.

Castiel took us straight to the vault containing John's holding cell.

"We'll take it from here," Sam turned and announced to all present. "Please. If Dean and I are going to do this, I would rather we were left alone."

Before anyone could protest, Lenore, of all people, stepped forward and regarded Sam and me closely. Then she nodded.

"As you wish," said the vamp. "But your safety is paramount, so I must insist that I remain outside the door, along with Missouri. Just in case."

There was some quiet grumbling but everyone saw the sense in it. A strong vamp with no emotional tie to John or Cornelius, and Missouri who could offer Sam psychic back up, would make the strongest security force while we faced the demon.

"Dad?" I turned to Tobius, but he shook his head.

"No. It's not my place," he answered. "This is for you boys to decide."

As Sam and I moved on through to the vault, we gazed up at the dark oak and iron door and waited nervously for entry to be granted. The door was massive but had a tiny hatchway, presumably to serve food and drink, but something told me that it hadn't been opened in a while. After everything that had happened, the guards probably preferred to bring prisoner meals down here under the protection of a heavily armed security detail.

Finally, the door opened, and we saw him.

The demon should have been pretty irate by now. He'd been down here for nearly a week, chained to a tough, wrought iron chair, and his only company were the angry occupants of the neighbouring cells, most of who were either former Pack elders, or captured new born Type Ones, all of them glaring at us in silent fury as we stumbled on by. Most were awaiting trial, but some had already opted for the fifty year sentence. Only a few had chosen to begin a new life with a new pack on the other side of the globe, and they had been shipped out of the country a few days ago with little fuss or ceremony.

But John just sat there, coolly smirking at us as we entered his cell.

"Wondered how long it would be before I saw you again," he said with a snort. "Just can't keep away from me, can ya boys?"

A long tongue flickered out and ran over parched lips with a gross slurping noise and he appraised us with those black eyes and a mocking grin.

"You wanna taste of this flesh? S'real sweet," John suddenly bit down hard on Cornelius' lower lip and took out a chunk, devouring the flesh like it was a gourmet meal.

Sam snarled and I had to hold him back.

_Easy Sammy. He's just trying to get to you._

I couldn't blame the kid. It was sickening, watching this monster treat Cornelius like he was nothing.

"Whasamatter Sammy?" said John in a sing song voice. "Don't you like werewolf meat? That's a shame. Seems to me like you've eaten every other kind there is." He dropped the smile and Cornelius' handsome face twisted into an ugly sneer. "Or maybe that's too much like cannibalism to you." The demon tilted his head forward and stared right at Sam. "Or _maybe _you'd prefer to suck his co…"

"That's enough!" I said, sharply, before Sam could lose his cool completely, then I stepped forward, standing right on the edge of the devil's trap. "You know why we're here."

It wasn't a question and John knew it. He sighed dramatically, and raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I know," John regarded me with a steady gaze and when he spoke again his tone was softened considerably. "But you can't do it, Dean, and _you_ know that too. I was your father, once. We did everything together. Hunting, hustling pool…" he gave out a small chuckle. "We even shared a love of the same music. Remember, Dean?"

I glared at him without saying a word.

But yeah, sure, I remembered.

I remembered how we used to laugh and joke quietly in front of the TV long after Sammy had gone to bed, and how John would share his cheap bourbon with me even though I was underage, and tell me what a great hunter I was, and how we were gonna have to train Sammy, get him out of his stupid studies and toughen him up.

I remember riding shotgun, singing along with him in the car, while Sam stayed in the back seat, quiet and alone, never joining in, nose stuck in a book or staring out the back window with a bored and disinterested expression on his face. Looking back, I could recognise how Sammy was left out, kept to the sidelines, how John sometimes treated him like he wasn't a part of the family.

I remember John telling me the kid was too soft, too sensitive, how Sammy needed a firm hand…

And that's about the time that I recalled the sight of a skinny young kid, with misshapen limbs, and a dislocated shoulder. I remember I barely recognised him, after only six months apart. He was covered in scars and bruises, limping from a broken leg that hadn't healed properly, staring right at me with those sad and lonely puppy dog eyes as though he wasn't sure I was real.

I can still sometimes feel that warm, shaking body, all skin and jutting bones, falling into my arms and clinging on tight. I can still see the tears in his bruised eyes, gazing out of a thin, malnourished face.

And what I remember the most: this was what _John _had done to him.

When John was still _human._

I could have ranted and screamed at the demon John had become, told him that no real human would have done that to a mere _child_, that a _real_ human with a _real_ heart would have loved Sammy regardless of his origins.

Just like I did, still do, and always will.

But that, I'm afraid, would have been a waste of time, effort and breath.

So instead, I nodded. "You're wrong; I could do it. But I won't. 'Cos it's not my play to call."

John frowned, obviously confused. "Then what are you here for?"

I didn't answer, just turned to Sam and held out the sword.

"He's all yours," I told him. "Have at it."

_**TBC...**_

**Thank you soooo much for all your support, not only with this chapter, but also your advice with my boss.**

**He actually apologised to me today. Made me feel a lot better about it all.**

**Cheers my darlings. Only a few chapters away from the end... **

**Love ST xxx**

PS. Recently, I encountered a fic where the author hadn't supplied a Season 7 spoiler alert. Now, I like to think that I wasn't nasty about it, but when I pointed out to them that I hadn't seen any of Season 7 because it hadn't yet aired over here, so would they mind stating a spoiler warning in future, I was politely told that if I wanted to avoid spoilers then don't read their fics. I found this rather upsetting, since I was an avid and loyal reader, always trying to leave reviews for this author's stories whenever I had the time. Basically, I took this to mean that my reviews actually meant very little to them. I have since decided never to leave another review for this person.

I think most authors in this fandom are pretty considerate like that, and obviously mistakes happen, but is a spoiler alert really too much to ask?

So, I would like to send out a BIG THANKYOU to all the authors on this site who have the decency and consideration to post spoiler warnings with their fics. You've all saved me from a lot of disappointment. (Hugs you all.)


	25. Chapter 25

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 25**

**As a special treat for you all, here's an extra long intro with partying wolves…**

'**cos, you're gonna need it.**

_**Now…**_

**The hunting party obviously returned sometime during the night, and a large hunk of meat is now spit roasting over the fire. Hot fat sizzles in the pit and ignites, sending bright red and orange flames leaping and dancing, shadows twirling around the smoke and lighting up the thoughtful faces of gathered wolves, bears and humans.**

**But there are two newcomers, who may have come in with the hunting party.**

**A small, rotund, black lady with a kind smile and sparkling eyes is sitting beside Sam and holding his rejuvenating arm.**

"**You're doing just fine, honey," she's telling him while gently rubbing the limb. "It'll be back to full strength in no time, and you'll soon forget what it was like to live without it."**

**Sam dips his head, smiling shyly. "Thanks, Missouri. Feels like its taken years to grow back, but it's only been a few weeks."**

**The other newcomer, a tall ginger-headed, good looking guy with a boyish grin, nods in agreement. **

"**Lost my right big toe, once," he says. "Sod was bloody painful when it began growing back, and took its sweet time about it too!"**

**Dean, sitting on the other side of Sam, frowns.**

"**How?" he asks, curiously. "What kind of werewolf Doctor loses his own toe?"**

**The Doc shrugs and winks at him. "The kind who, on a drunken dare, breaks into Colchester Zoo and accidentally falls into the reptile enclosure," he shakes his head, and shudders dramatically. "Wasn't a pretty sight, let me tell you. Still, Castiel suffered far worse that night."**

**Everyone goes still and blinks in astonishment. **

**The quiet and reserved Canadian Pack Beta has been minding his own business, just sitting there listening to the conversation, but now all eyes are on him. He coughs to cover his embarrassment, and he's blushing furiously.**

"**It can happen to anyone," he mutters, unable or perhaps unwilling to look Dean in the eye.**

"**_What_, exactly, can happen to anyone?" Dean's grinning from ear to ear in anticipation.**

**Castiel takes a large swig of mead and swallows long and hard, obviously a delaying tactic.**

"**_Mumble, mumble, mumble_" says Cas, unintelligibly.**

"**I'm sorry," Dave the Doc cups a hand around his own ear, his brows raised, eyes wide with false innocence, and leans towards the Beta. "Didn't quite catch that, mate. Speak up!"**

"**Having their foot bitten off by an angry crocodile," Castiel reluctantly says a little more clearly.**

**Tobius, Marcus and Lucas guffaw so loudly that the sound carries and bounces off trees and mountains. Somewhere among the tall, distant peaks a small avalanche is triggered off, and the camera can just about pick up the faint rumbling.**

**Everyone is chortling away, holding their sides and shaking their heads.**

"**What happened then?" Sam manages to ask in between sniggering and desperate gasps for breath.**

**The Beta looks uncomfortable. "We were arrested for breaking and entering, fined £300, extradited back to Canada, and spent a week confined to quarters on our arrival back at the grounds two days later."**

"**_Annnd?_" Dave rolls his hand, in a 'please continue' gesture. "What did the nice zookeeper tell all the disappointed kiddies on a school trip when Mr Croc didn't come out to see them?"**

**Sam and Dean wait expectantly for the answer, huge grins on their faces.**

**Castiel clears his throat, so embarrassed even his _ears_ are bright red. **

"**The crocodile had to be treated for food poisoning."**

**The entire mountain erupts with laughter, and several miles away another avalanche almost wipes out a small section of forest.**

**Andy is choking on a mouthful of mead. So overcome with laughter his nose begins morphing into a bear snout.**

"**Aw, bless 'im," Dave says, all mock sympathy. "He's laughing so hard it's thrown his change switches out."**

"**Shuddup!" Andy manages to choke out.**

**Gerald takes pity on his helpless son and thumps him hard on the back. Janaya-Maria, in bear form as always, rises up on her rear legs, waddles over to her stricken brother, and plants her paws firmly on Andy's shoulders. Her little snout sniffs around his face and neck, offering comfort of her own variety.**

**After clearing his throat, Andy nods. "Thanks, Dad."**

"**Don't mention it son," Gerald replies while Josey giggles and wraps an arm round his waist.**

"**I'm ok, little sis," Andy tells the bear cub and scratches gently behind her ears.**

**Sam is watching the werebear brother and sister with a soft look on his face.**

**Dean nudges him. "You wanna carry on with the journal tonight?"**

**Sam thinks about it, then shakes his head. "Nah. I don't want to ruin the mood for everyone. Maybe tomorrow?"**

**Dean smiles, reaches out and rubs Sam's neck. "Whatever you say, dude."**

**The camera is forgotten about, but the digital audience gets to witness a _Were_ party in full swing, and it carries on long into the night, with much eating and drunken revelry. Pups run amuck, play fighting and rolling about on the forest floor, with the older wolves watching in amusement.**

**Up above the party, the soft white clouds that had been covering the stars slowly disperse, baring the night sky in all its glory, complete with a bright and beautiful silvery moon.**

**Lucas accompanies the three brothers, Marcus, Tobius, and a rather 'trollied' Castiel (as Tobius puts it) in a few verses of Wild Rover. **

I've been a wild rover for many a year

And I spent all my money on whiskey and beer,

And now I'm returning with gold in great store

And I never will play the wild rover no more.

Chorus (altogether now!):

And it's no, nay, never,

No nay never no more,

Will I play the wild rover

No never no more.

**By the time the song has ended, Castiel is butt naked in human form, for some unaccountable reason balancing a mead flask on his head, and swaying from side to side while howling at the full moon above.**

**The low battery alert warning begins flashing on screen.**

**Bobby is seen discreetly talking to Lucas, and the two of them stroll casually away from the camp and disappear into the trees.**

**The party continues into the early hours.**

**Everyone is humming The Stripper. Dean, having performed a partial change so that his lower half is all wolf, is busy pole dancing by using a nearby pine tree for the pole. But it's all he can do to stay upright.**

**Everyone is still laughing and joking, the cooking meat is gradually whittled away to nothing, and yet more food is brought out by Victoria, with Arthur's help.**

**Just as Sam's furry snout and alcohol glazed blue-green eyes appear in front of the lens, the young wolf grinning widely, the screen goes blank.**

**There's a bleep, some swearing, then early morning light sweeps across the screen.**

**Sam and Dean are sitting in their usual places by the fire, but this time they are completely alone. Not even Bobby or Pastor Jim are present. The pups are gone, and the whole camp has been tidied up.**

**Even Tobius' cabin looks empty.**

"**S'ok," Sam waves at the camera and smiles. "Don't panic. Nothing bad has happened. They're all headed to over to Tobius' Special Place, ya know? Where Dean once taught me to fish?"**

**Dean nods, and stokes the newly lit fire pit. "Got some breakfast on the go. Thought we'd record this one last journal entry, then head out after them." He glances at Sam. "Something tells me Marcus has some news to share with us."**

"**Yeah," agrees Sam. "Hope it's nothing bad."**

"**Nah, dude," Dean replies with a cocky grin. "Don't think so. The trials are over. Most of those Type Ones were converted back successfully, and the new elder council seems to be working out ok. It can only be good news from now on, Sammy."**

"**Unless it's about Crowley…" Sam ponders, frowning.**

"**Even then, I doubt it," says Dean, confidently. "He'll wait, bide his time. Probably leave it just long enough for everyone to grow complacent or forget about him... maybe wait a couple hundred years. At least, that's what _I'd_ do in his shoes, especially while locked up in a high security cell." He nudges Sam, staring at the kid in earnest. "And he ain't gettin' free, dude. I can promise you that."**

"**I guess," but Sam sounds uncertain.**

"**C'mon," Dean nudges him and points at the camera. "Let's not keep these folks in the dark any longer, huh?"**

**Sam suddenly looks anguished, as though he's half tempted to back out, but takes a deep breath and nods.**

"**Good boy." Dean turns to the camera and stares hard into the lens. "Remember what I said right at the start of this journal? Well, can't say I didn't warn you…"**

_**Then…**_

"Well, well, well," said John with false bravado. "If it ain't the one armed bandit in the flesh!"

But for the first time the demon looked decidedly worried. He didn't seem anywhere near as confident as he had a second ago, before I handed Sam the sword.

Sam stood there in front of him, carefully hefting the sword in his right hand. His eyes never left John as he spoke.

"Are you sure, Dean?" he asked, quietly.

Was I? No. Not really. Under normal circumstances this wasn't something I'd expect, or even allow Sam to do. I wouldn't want this on his conscience, haunting him and screwing with his head. But he was right. This wasn't about John, it was about Cornelius.

"Go ahead, Sam," I answered. "Get that bastard out of our friend."

Sam carefully stepped forward, testing his balance and centre of gravity, and compensating for the lost arm. He flexed his right arm, sweeping the sword round in circles, back and forth, generally getting used to the weight.

I watched him as he stared into those black eyes, perhaps searching for Cornelius, making sure he was truly gone.

"Whatcha lookin' for, kid?" John grinned, but I noted that he kept track of those sweeping arcs, the silver sword almost mesmerising him. I think he truly didn't believe Sammy would do this.

Sam just continued staring at him, eyes narrowed, then suddenly stopped and raised the gleaming weapon.

"Seriously, Sammy," the demon chuckled cruelly. "How you getting along these days? Are you like one of those dogs in the shelters, limping along on three legs, having to beg for food 'cos you're too damn useless to hunt for your own? A wolf in the wild wouldn't stand a chance." He suddenly snarled: "You're nothing, Sammy, and you'll _always_ be nothing!"

Sam's mouth twitched into an almost smile.

"Aw, ain't you gonna talked to me, boy?" the demon sneered. "Not sulking, are you Sammy? Ain't you gonna give me the big hero speech about how wrong I am 'bout you?"

A familiar crackling and squelching noise broke out and echoed round the room.

John stiffened up in his seat. "What the hell was that?"

Glancing at Sam, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the pain lines bracketing his mouth, blood dripping from the bandage. But he held the agony inside, kept it hidden away, refused to let John see it.

John watched him closely. "What was that noise?" he asked again, sharply.

Sam's smile grew.

He stepped closer to the demon, now right inside the devils trap.

"_That_ was my big hero speech about how wrong you are about me," and began unravelling the bandage.

The blood soaked material fell to the ground in a small heap, revealing the regenerating mass of Sam's arm. I could see just how well it was progressing, even if it did look kind of gross. A bicep was developing nicely, and the cauterised stump was bulging out slightly, getting ready for a hand to re-emerge when the time was right. It was like watching a baby growing outside the womb.

John had originally sliced into Sam's arm at the shoulder, but the regenerating limb had already progressed halfway down to the elbow.

Sam flexed the newly formed bicep, right in John's face and his smiled turned serene.

"I'm immortal, John," I heard him whisper. "Werewolves can regrow lost body parts."

Up came the sword and before John could protest, Sam thrust it straight through his heart.

John went rigid, black eyes wide, and a hideous scream tore from him as his blackened soul tried unsuccessfully to escape the blade. But pinned as it was by demonically cursed silver, there was no way out, no way back to hell, and John was dying. We could see it in the way the black smoke was shrinking and losing momentum.

But John had one nasty surprise left in store for us.

"You should've asked, boys," he croaked out. "Sh-should've asked… about your friend…"

The smoke dissipated into nothing, blood poured from his mouth, and his eyes rolled blue.

Cornelius was looking back at us. The _real_ Cornelius, and he was still alive.

"Holy shit!" I gasped.

Sam's mouth fell open and his eyes filled with tears. "No!"

He began shaking his head, carefully pulling the sword from the other werewolf's chest.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" Sam whispered, dropping the sword and collapsing to his knees beside his friend. "Uh… it wasn't in for long, right?" he muttered as Cornelius blinked at him dazedly.

He turned his head slightly towards me, and I saw the truth in his eyes.

The silver had acted quickly. Sam's aim had been straight and true.

Cornelius was finished and the poor guy knew it.

But Sammy, he just wouldn't give up. He covered the wound with his hand, trying to stem the flow of blood, and the injured wolf grunted in pain.

"Dean?" Sam was looking up at me in despair. "It wasn't in there too long, the silver I mean. We can still save him…"

_It's alright, _Cornelius told us, his newly restored thought projections sounding weak and strained. _It's all gonna be ok._

Sam turned back to his friend and shook his head in despair. "No, it's not alright. God! I'm so sorry. We thought you were dead. We… _oh God what the hell have I done!_"

He broke down, sobbing loudly, and buried his face in Cornelius' neck.

The dying wolf gave me a faint, peaceful smile, then gently patted Sam on his good shoulder.

_I was as good as dead anyway, Sam, _he said.

Cornelius looked over at me again. _Lift my robe, Dean._

I frowned in confusion, but when I bent down and I lifted Cornelius' robe, I understood what he was trying to tell us. Barely noticeable to the naked eye, two tiny silver pins punctured each kneecap. It was a neat job and had hardly bled at all, but it must have been painful.

John had already horribly tortured Cornelius with silver. How the wolf had managed to survive this long was anybody's guess, with those silver pins poisoning his body... his heart.

I stared up at our friend in horror, eyes welling up, water spilling over and rolling down my face. The Sleepworm had restored his thought projections, even while the silver was slowly killing him.

_See? _The young non-lunar raised a shaky hand, reached out and thumbed away Sam's tears. _You do yourself a disservice by crying for me. _

"But…" Sam sniffed, stifled a sob, then leaned back to gaze at his dying friend.

_You saved me, Sam, like any true friend would, _Cornelius told him._ I was dying, slowly and painfully each day, already beyond help. Missouri tried an exorcism but John wouldn't let go; he was just too powerful. You set me free and I thank you for that. You are both true heroes, in every sense of the word._

He took a breath, as though he was going to add something else, and then it was over.

The brave young warrior was gone, the glow fading from his eyes. His handsome face seemed at peace, almost as if he were asleep.

We stayed with him for well over an hour in complete silence, kneeling by his side, and holding each other in our grief, before Tobius, Marcus, Lucas and Castiel turned up.

They filed inside the room without a word, and unchained Cornelius from his chair.

I could tell from the looks on their faces that they knew exactly what had gone down. Lucas spotted the silver pins and his eyes briefly hardened with fury, but when he looked at Sammy and me, he smiled sadly, and pulled us both into a tight hug.

_You did all you could, _he whispered, when Sam once again started shaking and trying to silence his sobs. _Do not blame yourselves. Cornelius didn't, and neither do we._

The three Alphas and Castiel gently lifted Cornelius up and carried him out of the cell, and we followed on behind. Vicky's mouth trembled when she saw her dead Beta, but she stoically held in her tears. Running a gentle hand over Cornelius' scalp, she whispered quietly to him, kissed his hair and wished him a safe journey to wherever it is that werewolves go after death.

The Home Pack was gathered outside in deadly quiet.

Later that week, they carried their Beta out into the forests, where his people could mourn their loss in privacy. Sam and I declined to go. This was _their_ time with Cornelius.

The Home Pack didn't return and we didn't go after them.

It would be the last funeral in the wake of the battle.

The Canadian Pack had said their goodbyes to Sergeant Fisher and Captain Byrnes the previous week, along with the many hundreds of other wolves who'd lost their lives because of Crowley and John.

The Captain and Sergeant had been given the full Pack honours down by the lake, where Sammy and I had gone fishing the night of his so-called trial.

My prime came and went unnoticed, swept along by the tide of grief and sadness. I wasn't bothered by the anonymity of such a profound stage in life. It didn't seem right to be celebrating my coming of age when so many had died, so I kept quiet. Besides, there was too much to think about, with Sam's arm still regenerating and healing, not to mention we were both called as witnesses to some of the Type One trials. Marcus was pretty good about that and, in deference to Sam's painful growth spurts, ordered a webcam to be set up in his quarters so we could answer the questions in comfort.

Missouri and Bobby had put their heads together and come up with a way of turning all converted wolves back to their original status, using Sleepworm. It meant there were a number of very contrite and guilty looking non-lunars led into the court room, and a few bewildered humans with no idea what had happened to them. These humans were taken home by Bobby Singer and enchanted/assured that it was all just a very weird and scary dream.

Some of the wolves converted back to Type Two were traumatized and filled with horror. They had been kidnapped and tortured with Sleepworm, and though some had bravely fought back, they were eventually forced into a painful and terrifying ritual that sealed their conversion.

Some of these victims required counselling from Missouri, just to get some perspective back and try to carry on with their lives.

These were the success stories, but others weren't so fortunate. Of the several hundred who had been forced to follow Crowley, at least fifty couldn't live with themselves in the aftermath.

There followed another funeral for the tragic wolves who took their own lives.

Sam and I were kept apart from most of it, told to stay in Marcus' quarters and rest up. I guess that was Tobius' doing mostly, but no doubt Marcus and Castiel also insisted. To be honest, I didn't put up much of a protest. Sam's guilt was overwhelming him despite Cornelius' departing words, so he needed me.

Lenore, in time, said her goodbyes, gathered her nest and returned to Florida, with a promise to keep in touch. Could never tell with her, though. Might be next week, next year, or next century before we see her again.

The Werebears took their leave next. There were hugs, backslaps and even a few tears – not mine, of course, I don't do that – until Tobius reminded us all that Josey and Gerald _only lived next door!_

And that made Sammy and me a little homesick, partly for the road, but also for Tobius' cabin.

As Sam grew stronger he was able to get out and explore the grounds for himself, and he quickly fell in love with the newly repaired gardens, spent considerable time in the underground Archives, visited the farming communities and, for reasons only known to him, took an interest in cheese making.

Then there was Marcus' own little surprise: a huge library, filled with leather bound books of almost every title you could imagine, and the journals of long dead non-lunars.

Bobby and Pastor Jim headed out next.

"The salvage yard won't run itself," grumbled Bobby, reluctantly. "Got enough rusting relics as it is, lying round that place."

"Will you be counting yourself among those relics?" Inquired the priest, smugly.

Bobby threw him a filthy look that had us all laughing.

But when he hugged us goodbye, I heard him whisper in Sam's ear.

"Now don't you go blaming yourself, ya hear me boy?" the gruff old buzzard gently squeezed Sam's neck. "Ain't your fault. None of it."

Pastor Jim smiled fondly at me and grasped my hand, enveloping it in both of his.

"You take care of each other, and we'll see you soon," he said, quietly. "In the meantime, I have to go see what my flock has been up to in my absence."

After a quick chat with Tobius, the priest and the mechanic, possibly the most unlikely hunter duo in the world, left the Canadian Pack with what I happen to know were at least two crates of Crowley's special ale, confiscated by Marcus shortly after Crowley went dark side.

He won't be seeing _that_ again.

Eventually, we also parted ways with the Canadian Pack.

We tried a 'quick goodbye and sneaking out at dawn' routine, but Marcus was wise to us. He caught us at the Council Chambers, gave us a friendly scolding, then frog marched us to the kitchens where Missouri waited with a large platter of bacon double cheese burgers.

It was a small affair, partly because we were anxious to hit the road but also because Sam still wasn't one hundred percent. His arm had regenerated all the way down to the elbow and a little beyond, and he started wearing a sling to prevent it getting too sore.

Marcus had an announcement to make that night.

As we sat at the French style wooden table in Cook's kitchen, consuming as many burgers as we could, the Canadian Pack Alpha tapped a spoon against his crystal goblet.

"Crowley has been caught in Spain and handed over to the appropriate non-lunar Pack," said the Alpha. He cleared his throat quietly. "He will be dealt with in due course."

God knows why, or how, he'd headed down there, but the Spanish Pack was well known for their humane and gentle torture tactics.

Wanna know where the Spanish Inquisition _really _originated from? Look no further.

Marcus nodded to Castiel, who took it from there.

"We have arranged for Crowley to be transported to a maximum security underground facility, of undisclosed location," the Beta told us, in his usual solemn monotone. "It has been approved by Queen Elizabeth II that he will eventually be held under guard by formers members of the 22nd Regiment Special Air Service. Permanently."

Huh. Tobius' old regiment. In the other words, Crowley was in for a tough time of it, and I had absolutely no sympathy whatsoever for the bastard. Good Riddance.

There was a heavy silence while everyone absorbed that piece of news.

"In the meantime, and I don't think I really have to say it," Marcus uttered, sadly. "But we are all going to miss you."

Marcus paused and breathed out.

"I know that Sam in particular had a rough time, but I hope that you won't hold that against me." His head ducked briefly, then rose again. "Things are going to change around here. I've learned my lesson."

And with that qualifying statement made, he raised his goblet for a toast.

"To my brother, and his undying loyalty," Marcus gestured to Tobius and winked. "Can we hug, now? Saves embarrassment when we get drunk later."

Tobius laughed and complied, his green eyes glowing with love.

But the Canadian Pack Alpha then turned to Sam and me.

"Don't think I have forgotten _**you **_two," he said, mysteriously. "Your time will come."

We left the next morning, a little hung over and a lot silent.

Sorry if this seems cold or... I dunno... we just carried on from there, I guess. We needed a starting point and this was it...

The road kept us company for a while. But things had changed.

We barely spoke about Cornelius in those first few weeks after we left, the pain just too much, his death too fresh and raw.

We toured the country, saw the Northern Lights, headed to Alaska... when we felt ready, we returned to Canada. There was someone else we needed to pay our respects to.

We headed down river from the Canadian Pack Grounds and found our little ambush camp. There was no sign of our traps, and the body of the old grey wolf was gone. Someone had done a thorough job of erasing all evidence of that distressing time, though we did find a small pile of rocks, carefully arranged right where we had left the old boy to rest.

_Lucas said he would stop by here on their way through, _Tobius told us. _No doubt, he built this cairn for the poor old fellow._

Neither of us said a word, just nodded gratefully and sat in respectful silence.

An hour later, we were on our way again, heading back to the Impala, safely hidden away just off a main road somewhere, and resuming our journey back to the United States.

Eventually, we _began_ to heal emotionally, though it would be some years... maybe a life time... before we fully recovered.

So Tobius took us to the Special Place, where we could run and laugh again.

And it honestly worked. For a while.

But a few days in, I had a question or two, and I waited until Sam was asleep, his furry face buried in my neck, breaths puffing against my skin.

"So, when were you gonna tell us?" I asked.

I didn't need to explain that I was asking about his Type One tendencies, when he ripped himself free of a powerful demon's hold, and took on the silver sword in Sam's stead.

Tobius sighed, heavily.

He was as tired as us, after all.

But, with a resigned huff, he explained:

"There's a reason why _they_ are Type Ones, and _we_ are Type Twos. They were the prototypes for our species, if you will. Rather like the apes were the prerequisites for humans, though one might argue that there's actually very little difference, especially if you've ever seen England lose to Germany in the World Cup," he chuckled a little and I couldn't resist a small curve of the lip. Guy had a point. "We are what they evolved into after the vamp wars ended several millennia ago. It was hard going; some harsh lessons about survival had to be learned. We gradually gained our empathy and sympathy for other life forms over time, but some wolves, a small minority, just weren't capable of change, of adapting, and so they broke away and formed a separate species altogether. They are more basic, more animalistic." Sire turned to stare at me. "They are the _first_ of our kind, and as such we should afford them a certain amount of respect, for they came about at a time when their instincts were hardwired for fight rather than flight, when emotions had no place. Only instinct was relied upon. Werewolves had no other choice if they wished to survive. This was right at the beginning, when the world was new and tough and a damn sight harsher than it is now. They served their purpose, but there is no longer a place in this world for their kind, and I feel sad for them, for the ones who cannot change, who continue to live in the past."

I listened to what must be the longest speech I'd ever heard him make, and realised that I wanted to hear more.

"The damn of the thing is, the closer in the generations you are to the Type One era, the _height _of their existence, when they pretty much ruled the earth, the more likely that basic behaviour will emerge under the right stressful conditions. It's gradually filtering out through the years with each newborn wolf, or turned human, and it's why you and Sam, and the others of your generation, don't have quite that same _irrational_ fire about you. Yours is more channelled, more controlled." He added with a gentle elbow nudge "and that's a _good_ thing, you know."

I shrugged, despondently.

"Yeah, sure it is," I commented sarcastically. "My channelled, more controlled _rational_ fire is what saved Sammy from becoming dismembered and taken to hell."

"Hey!" Sire nudged me again and frowned. "I was about to make like a wolf-shami-kebab. How would that have saved Sam? I might have bought him a few more seconds, but you saw the state Sam was in, Dean. He was spent. _Done_. There was no way he'd have had the physical strength to fight his way out from that."

I stayed silent, feeling a little petulant, because there's nothing my _brotherson _can't fight his way out of... maybe.

I can feel that look from you guys so _shaddup_ ok? I _hate _it when Sire's right, but it's even worse when the very people I'm doing this damn journal for side with him. Smug sonofa...

"And besides," Sire continued and skimmed a flat stone, smiling a little when he counted up to twenty. "It was Missouri, with Bobby's help, who saved Sam. Saved us _all_ in fact."

Silently taking back everything I just said about him, I nodded and chewed the side of my mouth for a second.

"Didn't save Cornelius though."

"No. I'm afraid not," said Tobius quietly. "No one could. His fate was decided the moment John possessed him. And that's something we shall all have to learn to live with. And learn _from_."

Huh. Weird conversation.

Helped more than I can describe.

_**TBC...in the final chapter, to be posted on Monday.**_

_**Thanks again for all your lovely reviews and marvellous support, especially after a difficult few weeks. Sorry I've not always been able to reply to your reviews, but I at least hope I managed to get around to talking to you all at some point.**_

_**Believe it or not, I actually do enjoy answering your reviews and questions in the name of friendly and interesting debate.**_

_**Much love goes out to you all.**_

_**Lots of love and hugs,**_

_**ST xxx**_


	26. Chapter 26

**Hunter of the Shadows Book 3**

**Enemy at the Door.**

**Chapter 26**

**And epilogue.**

_**Continued from previous chapter…**_

_**Then…**_

We didn't stay long at the Special Place which, after many years of arguing and debating, Sam had now decided to dub Le Salle Meadows. Not exactly imaginative, but it sure sounded better than 'Special Place'.

While Sam's arm continued with its painful regeneration, we drove around aimlessly, seeing the sights, just relaxing, and not taking on any jobs.

Spent some time on the west coast, caught some rays and stayed in a luxury beach house, which Tobius revealed was actually owned by Castiel.

The Canadian Pack Beta was full of surprises.

Turns out, he's an avid surfer with a garage full of surf and scuba diving equipment and, to my utter delight and curiosity, a large selection of harpoon guns.

No idea why he kept those, but they sure were cool.

On a more worrying note, we also discovered Des O'Connor figured prominently among his CD collection, along with some old Irish guy in a cardigan that crooned easy listening music for grandparents, usually from a rocking chair.

What was his name again?

Oh yeah, someone by the name of Val Doonican.

Not so cool.

I made a mental note of it. That kind of blackmail material is priceless.

Cas wasn't getting off lightly with _this_ one.

Tobius grinned and shook his head when I pointed this stuff out to him.

"Well, well, well," he said, gazing in amused wonder at the massive oak CD case. "You think you know someone, eh? Never realised just how much of a _square_ he is!"

Sam liked it at Cas' beach house, with the exception of the music, of course. While his arm was sore most of the time, and downright agonising at others, he enjoyed long walks along the beach, digging his toes into the warm sand, and breathing in the fresh sea air.

His pale, sickly looking skin soon caught the sun and turned a deep brown which made his eyes seem to glow all the brighter. He insisted on coming down to the water's edge at each day break to laugh at me bounding around stupidly, leaping in and out of the water, trying to catch some fish. Wasn't easy. Sea fishing is a whole lot different to fresh water fishing. For one thing, all that fucking salt makes you thirstier. I downed about a gallon of water after every fishing expedition.

Sam's appetite began to improve as the limb regeneration neared completion, and the pain began to ease off. He was able to take part in the morning's fishing to a certain extent, though with one arm slightly shorter than the other it wasn't easy on him.

But he was really in his element when he discovered a couple buckets and spades in the garage, and somehow managed to talk us into a sand castle competition.

To be fair, we _were_ kind of drunk at the time and none of us can remember who won, but I occasionally have flashbacks of sandy turrets in the shape of large penises, so who knows?

Piece of advice: Tequila, bourbon and an ancient brew of illegal absinthe (found at the back of Castiel's drinks cabinet) really don't mix.

Such drunken occasions sometimes, though not always, led onto discussions about the battle, the Canadian Pack, John Winchester and, of course, the inevitable…

We didn't talk much about Crowley otherwise, because there wasn't much left to say that already hadn't been said. The Canadian Pack was keeping real quiet on the subject of the wayward Type One, and we suspected Marcus was still torn up over what to do with the guy. Crowley had been his brother for hundreds of years, so I guess it wasn't that easy a decision to make.

Personally, I'd leave him to rot in some dank, rat infested cell but that ain't my call.

Castiel sent us an email here and there, just catching up, in that weird and stilted way of his. What the hell. It showed he cared.

Missouri kept up with Sam using their psychic force, or whatever it's called, but we hardly ever heard directly from Marcus. Poor guy was probably busy with further Pack reforms. Rather him than me.

But we did hear from Lucas. We'd travelled east and stopped off at Sire's luxury hotel for the first time in ages, and Tobius checked his mail box. He revealed a stiff, brown, A4 envelope filled with some official looking papers.

"Uh," I said, eyebrows raised. "That looks a little scary."

Sam grinned. "IRS finally catch up with you after eight hundred years?"

Tobius didn't look up from studying the envelope, just reached out and gently swatted Sam round the back of the head, lips twitching into a smile.

"Hardly. I'm extremely meticulous when it comes to tax issues. There's no way the US government has any quarrel with me," he smirked, then added "the French on the other hand..." but then he did look up, face serious. "However, these are for you two."

He held out some of the papers, and Sam grabbed them, frowning deeply.

"Oh Jeez!" he exclaimed, softly, eyes widening. "Are these, like, adoption certificates or something?"

"What?" I yelped, and leaned over for a look.

"And there's a letter," Sam added, blinking in shock. "It's from Lucas…"

And indeed it was, in neat, flourishing, old English curly writing that was virtually impossible to read.

"I can't make this out," I complained, but Sam just rolled his eyes and read it aloud.

_Dear Sam and Dean,_

_I trust this letter finds you well and recovering nicely from your exploits in Canada._

_I won't mess around. Best to just get straight to the point._

_As you can imagine, the Home Pack has not been quite the same since we lost our Beta. Matthew and Logan in particular have become withdrawn and barely speak these days. This has given us cause for concern, especially since their health suffers and they have lost too much weight. Much as I love the wee runts, I can only do what's best for them and, as it turns out, what Cornelius wanted._

_The following pack adoption certificates were originally drawn up by Cornelius some months ago, as part of his last will and testament, and have since been signed and approved by myself, Vicky, Tobius and Marcus, with Castiel, Dave and Missouri as witnesses._

_I gather this will come as a shock to you both, but the pups had already formed a bond with you boys the night you first met them. Cornelius felt it only right and fair that the brothers come to you in the event of his demise. _

_Sadly, and unexpectedly, that time has come._

_I, personally, feel that there are no two non-lunars better qualified to handle the mischievous little sods, and I'm sure Tobius will be more than happy to help out._

_Try not to panic. It'll all work out for the best._

_Looking forward to seeing you all again next week._

_With love, and fond regards,_

_Lucas, Lord Alpha of the Northern Territories Home Pack,_

_& Victoria, Lady Alpha of the Northern Territories Home Pack._

Sam and I exchanged shocked glances.

"Holy shit…" I whispered.

Silence fell over us like a blanket as we both slowly sank down onto the soft living room sofa. Sammy stared at the fireplace, unseeing, while my gaze flitted round the room.

In my shocked state I was once again assaulted by so many memories of Sam, from when I fully realised what I had done to him by making him my son. Bringing him here for the first time, unconscious in my arms. Waiting impatiently for him to wake up, to see if he would survive the werewolf transformation. Watching his eyes well up with tears when he realised what he'd become. Sitting here, in front of the blazing fire with Sire talking to us quietly about bygone years. Sam impatiently awaiting his first change. All the way up to the night we brought him back here after Archy stabbed him in the gut with a silver knife.

It hit me all at once. The love, the sadness, the fear, the doubts… all that came with werewolf parenthood. And I was about to embark on it once again.

Tobius watched us both with a small smile while we came to terms with the news.

"Before you ask, Cornelius wasn't psychic," he told us. "He just wanted the young brothers to have some sense of stability in their lives should anything happen to him."

He added, rather sadly. "Which it did. Obviously."

More silence befell us while we contemplated our future as parents.

Sam frowned.

"So does that make us _both_ their fathers?" he asked, worriedly and glanced at me with a sudden sly gleam in his eye. "No offence, dude, but I don't think we're ready to come out as a gay couple with adopted kids."

He received another swat over the head for that, just on principle, but this time from me.

Tobius burst out laughing and nearly fell off his chair. Choking back his mirth, he shook his head.

"Werewolf adoption doesn't quite work like that. If not related by blood then the selected werewolves become 'Protectors'."

Apparently, this is actually a very old fashioned term, and most Protectors are just referred to as 'brother' or 'sister', although that doesn't fully cover the relationship type either.

"You will be their parental guides until their prime and beyond that if they choose, but at the same time you aren't exactly their parents," Tobius explained, still coming down from his mirth. "I believe the term _en loco parentis_ is often used these days."

My turn to frown. "Jeez! Complicated much?"

Tobius raised an eyebrow. "Really? Need we go over our _own_ rather unusual relationships within this Pack?"

"Fair comment," I answered after a pause for thought, then asked a question of my own. "En loco what?"

"Parentis," said Sam with a grin. "It more or less means 'acting parent'."

Hmm. Personally, I thought 'protector' was cooler, but whatever!

"I think he prefers 'Protector'," Sam murmured sotto voce to Tobius, mischievously. "Probably thinks its cooler."

_Sonofa…_

Kid knows me too damn well, which is probably a good thing if we're gonna be _protecting_ two pups for the next couple decades or so.

Just one tiny little detail to work out.

"How we gonna make room for them in the car?" My eyes widened with horror as something sunk in. "No way. Nuhuh. We are _not_ getting an RV, or worse a _people carrier_ like some damn Soccer Mom!"

I was already panicking before Tobius was able to speak, and the room started to spin.

_I'm not getting rid of Baby... I can't..._

My breathing went out of control, I couldn't stop hyperventilating, my heart was pounding and my sight dimmed…

_Easy my son,_ I heard Tobius through the fog of panic, and felt a hand on my back.

Someone tilted me forward in my seat with the instructions to _breathe with me, C'mon Dean, just copy what I'm doing, ok?_

It was Sammy, coaching me through it and talking me down.

When I eventually came back to my senses, Tobius removed his hand from my back and patted my shoulder.

"I had no intention of buying such a heap of rubbish," he said. "So take that idea out of your head _right _this instant."

I stared at him, wonderingly. "Ok…"

"You're retiring," said Sam, bluntly. "Aren't you."

It wasn't a question, not really.

"You've been talking about this for a while," he added, "and I guess we just forgot with everything that went on up in Canada. Right?"

Sam watched his grandfather anxiously, but there was a look of understanding in that puppy dog gaze.

Tobius pursed his mouth and nodded, slowly.

"It was something I was going to discuss with you both on the way to the cabin," he smiled slightly. "Lucas has organised a bit of a social gathering up there. We felt that perhaps a little light fun and joviality would do everyone the world of good, especially now."

"So?" I folded my arms across my chest and eyed him warily. "Are you gonna discuss it now instead? 'Cos I'm not sure I can wait 'til next week to hear about the future of our pack."

Tobius sat down beside us. "I intend to get my affairs in order, gather some paperwork, etc. then," he glanced first at Sam, then me, "I'll be moving out of the cabin. Permanently."

"What?" I demanded at the same time as Sam exclaimed.

"You can't!"

Tobius held up a hand.

"Calm down, boys. We discussed this once before, remember? When we talked about," he cast Sam a fondly amused smile "Le Salle Meadows. I had always planned on retiring there and keeping watch over the land, protecting and guarding it against 'progress' and 'development', as I once promised the Native American tribes who lived and died there. You've known this for some time, now."

"B-but…" I stuttered, thoroughly shocked and kind of disappointed.

He was right, though. We'd known this day was coming, but hadn't thought it would happen this soon.

"So that means…" Sam began, dolefully, but couldn't finish the sentence.

Tobius turned to his grandson and wrapped a gentle hand around the nape of his neck.

"That means, I will no longer be travelling or hunting with you," he said, softly. "But that doesn't mean I won't be around should the four of you need me. A new cabin is being built, as we speak, by Lucas and his Pack. There'll always be a home for you and the pups. And, of course," he added with a laugh, "You'll surely be staying with me for the first couple of years to train and school the little rascals, yes?"

He regarded us with a hopeful smile.

"Damn straight!" Sam blurted out in sudden panic. "We're gonna need all the help we can get with those two!"

I was still having a hard time with it. We were _Pack_. Family. We weren't supposed to split up, not just yet anyhow. How could this be happening?

"Wha…" I choked a little on the words. "What about the other cabin? _Our_ cabin? The one Sam practically grew up in?" I glared at him in sudden anger when a thought occurred to me. "You're not! You can't tear it down…"

"No, no, no! Of _course_ not," said Tobius, hurriedly, and looked a little horrified himself at the very thought. "Look. This was something else I was going to wait and present you with next week, but, well. Why not? Here…"

He held out a set of familiar looking keys.

"That cabin is the family seat of our Pack," he said, then grabbed my hand, placed the keys in my palm, and gently closed my fingers over it. "And the keys belong to its Alpha."

Distantly, I heard Sam gasp and my heart started pounding furiously.

"Dean," Sam murmured, gently nudging me with his good elbow. "You ok? You wanna try breathing? Don't start doing that again!"

I turned to Sammy, my eyes wide with shock.

"Bu-But… uh," I gulped, not entirely sure what to say. Too fast, too fast, too fast..."I c-can't… m'not ready…"

Sam was gazing at me with a soft, proud smile and that look of hero worship I'd treasured for so long.

"Dude," he said, softy. Then his expression turned wise and suddenly, just for a second there, he looked so much older than his twenty one years. "You _so_ are. You've been ready for a long time now."

We sat in silence, the three of us just staring at each other, before Tobius calmly pulled us both into a group hug.

"My boys," he whispered. "My brave, beautiful boys. Being on the hunt with you both… well, it's been an honour and a privilege fighting beside you. But it's time to pass the torch on."

We held on for a while, keeping each other close, until Sire gently broke it up.

_Now, _he added, lifting the mood slightly. _Get your glad rags on, and let's go down to the restaurant for a nice steak dinner. We have a Rolling Stones tribute band playing in the main hall, and a guest Michelin Star chef visiting tonight._

_Who? _I asked curiously, trying to swallow back my tears and join in the fun.

_You'll have to wait and see, _Tobius pulled back from the hug and grinned, waggling his eyebrows. _But he does enjoy using the 'F' word rather a lot…_

_No way! _Sam's deep belly laugh had me smiling again.

We headed down to the Hotel's restaurant fifteen minutes later, where we were seated at the best table in the room, and presented with the most expensive champagne on the menu.

"To the future," said Tobius, his glowing green eyes sparkling with pride and pleasure, just like the champagne flute he held up to the light. "And all the wonders it holds for our Pack."

Brown Sugar, one of my personal Stones favourites, started up from the band, and we all relaxed a little further. It was spot on. The lead singer even _looked_ like Mick Jagger, let alone sounded like him.

Some animated yells of frustration came from the kitchen occasionally, but I'm pretty sure even a non-lunar wouldn't bother heading on back to sort it out.

Not with the 'F' guy in there, though I'd pay a shit load of money to see him go up against Missouri.

I glanced around the table at my Pack... _my Pack_, seeing them for the first time through the eyes of an Alpha.

We'd _all _grown up together, even Tobius to a certain extent. We'd suffered so much pain and loss, forged a bond between us that no one, be it human or wolf, could break, and now it felt like this was the end of the line.

_It's not the end, Dean,_ Tobius said, suddenly. _It's just the beginning._

Yeah. I knew things would change, but this was too much too soon and, champagne aside, my head was spinning a little. Tobius had effectively stepped down as Alpha, and would take on a more sedate role as the first of our respected Pack elders. Sammy was now the Pack Beta and body guard, and that was hard to fathom. In my mind, he was still just a kid, a pup, but I had no doubts that he would be superb for the job. He'd already proven himself time and time again, after all.

Ya see, we're still a relatively new and young Pack, with a lot to learn.

And I found it daunting. There was just so much to do, to plan, in such a short space of time.

Even the gradual transition from hunting with Sire, to hunting with Matthew and Logan just seemed so fast. A couple of years? It would soon go, and during that time Sammy and I would still be called away to fight ghosts, demons, strays, Type Ones that no doubt survived the battle and escaped, then return home to the pups and Tobius.

But that's the way our Pack was evolving.

It's what we do: Saving people, hunting things.

The family business.

_**Now…**_

**Dean's sitting next to the now dead fire pit, elbows on knees.**

"**Sammy's just taking a shower," he tells the camera. "Then he's gonna lock up the cabin and we can be on our way."**

**He scratches the back of his neck.**

"**So that's pretty much it," says Dean. "Our journey in full, right from the night I was turned by Tobius." He smiles wistfully. "Ya know, it's been a real blast sharing all this with you. And it's helped Sammy and me come to terms with things, as in all the hard stuff, like the battles, the fear, the disappointments… and losing Cornelius. We've been through some life changing shit, year after year. Just when we think we've seen it all, something new comes along and changes the rules. But we've survived it all, and now we have a family of our own. "**

**He leans forward, conspiratorially. "Just so ya know, Matthew and Logan don't know about the adoption yet, so keep it to yourselves for now, huh? I wanna see their little faces when we tell 'em."**

**Dean looks up and grins. "You ready, Sammy?" then he explains to the camera. "As we told you during the last journal entry, the others went ahead to the Special Place…" there's a soft woof of disapproval from out of shot, and Dean corrects himself with a roll of the eyes. "Le Salle Meadows, I mean. We're now heading down to meet up with them. Apparently they got something special planned, and Marcus wants a word with us." He frowns and shudders. "Sure hope it's not some kind of arranged marriage between our Packs. Don't think I could handle his taste in women after what he told us about Tobius' fortieth birthday. Remember? Big Bertha with the huge thighs…"**

**The large red wolf trots into view and shoves his snout into Dean's neck. Nuzzling gently, the big softy grunts and snuffles, then takes a step back.**

"**Heya Sammy, just gimme a moment to change," Dean tells him.**

**Sam looks at the camera, pads quietly over, and sits back on his haunches. His head tilts to one side, tongue hanging out in a big wide grin.**

**_Don't worry, _he seems to tell the digital audience. _I haven't forgotten about you…_**

**His head dips forward and the last thing seen is his huge tongue descending on the lens.**

"**See ya later, alligators…" Dean is heard saying before the camera is shut off.**

_**EPILOGUE**_

**The screen flashes white, then Dean appears. He seems content and happy, his shoulders relaxed as though a huge weight had been lifted.**

"**Ok, so we're not _quite_ finished. You wanna know what Marcus had to say, huh? I wouldn't leave you guys in the lurch like that.…"**

_**One week later…**_

Sam and I were in for a surprise. It had just been the two of us travelling together after the huge drunken wolf party. The others had gone on ahead, while we finished off the journal. But it seemed there was more to report…

As we arrived at Le Salle Meadows, we were greeted by a guard of honour. Each wolf was in human form and wearing some kind of dark blue military dress uniform, decorated with a silver-type thread on the lapels and shoulders.

Even more bazaar, Sammy and I were given similar uniforms but in black and gold instead.

Surrounded by Lucas, Vicky, Castiel, Missouri and Dave, we were treated to hugs and backslaps, then Lucas grinned knowingly.

"Welcome to your Prime celebrations, Dean," he said with a small bow and laughed when he saw my face. I must have looked a little shell shocked. "Surely you didn't think you were going to get away with it? Come on. Everyone's waiting for you."

"I'll help you put these on," said Missouri with a gentle smile, and gestured to our uniforms. "You boys are gonna look so handsome…"

The uniform chafed, and the high collar felt a little too tight. Honestly? This wasn't really what I'd had in mind for my Prime celebrations. Had kind of hoped for another evening of drunken merriment, but I didn't have the heart to say anything.

Feeling dazed and confused, we were escorted alongside the lake, until we saw Tobius and Marcus in the distance. But they weren't alone.

For a start, Andy, Gerald, Josey and Janaya-Maria were present in bear form.

Andy waved a huge paw at us and briefly danced a little jig. _Hey guys. Took you long enough to get here!_

_Enough with the dancing bear routine, you troublemaker! _Josey told her son mock-sternly. _This is supposed to be a solemn occasion._

_For now,_ Gerald added, with a mischievous grin, and received a dig in the gut from a sharp, furry elbow. _Ow!_

_Serves you right! _His wife told him, fighting her own smile.

Andy puffed through his snout. _Parents huh? Sooo embarrassing!_

Janaya-Maria gave out a little noise of agreement and climbed up into her brother's arms. Poor little thing was probably bored shitless already, and we hadn't even got started with the Prime ceremony…

And it was indeed going to be a solemn and serious affair, because several hundred members of the Canadian Pack were present in the blue and silver uniforms. They were all gathered around a kind of altar or dais made from wood, probably cut from the local trees, and each wolf wore the black Canadian Pack motif over their hearts.

I noticed that Marcus wore the same blue and silver as the rest of his Pack, but Tobius was the only wolf wearing black and gold apart from us.

The Home Pack, of course, had their own uniform. Nothing. Not a stitch on them, but hey! Each to their own. To be honest I was kind of shocked that _any_ non-lunars wore dress uniforms for such occasions. Gotta be that British devotion to pomp and ceremony.

_Dean, these must be our pack colours,_ said Sam, sounding a little stunned and overawed.

_Yuhuh, _I answered, helplessly, not at all sure what else to say.

Even Tobius, a tall and commanding presence in his black and gold uniform, nevertheless appeared a little unnerved by it all.

There was some nervous chattering and whispering going on among the packs, but this soon died out as we approached the dais. Everyone watched us in absolute silence.

"Castiel, if you would be so kind as to pass me my sword," said Marcus, tonelessly and without preamble.

"Indeed brother," Castiel bowed his head, respectfully, marched to the dais, drew a large and hefty solid bronze broadsword off the top, and handed it over to his Alpha.

Ok. Now I was worried. They had us trussed up in these military style uniforms, with what I now recognised as the insignia of Her Majesty's commission on our shoulders. Our boots were spit and polished, shiny enough to see our faces in, and with matching peak caps, which we now held smartly under our arms... El Weirdo, or what?

We didn't know what was going on, but Sammy and I knelt when asked to, and bowed our heads respectfully.

Then I distantly felt the tap of the blade on each shoulder.

"With the power vested in me by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, I dub thee Lord of Anjou, named in honour of your Sire's birthplace, and expressed in honour of the service you and your _brotherson _have performed for the good of mankind."

I blinked in shock. _What?_

"Manners, Dean," Tobius murmured, quietly, eyes dancing with pride and amusement when I glanced up at him.

"Sorry," I replied, absently then watched as the same thing was done to Sam.

Sam's eyes were almost bugging out of his head, his mouth a big 'O' when the Alpha proclaimed him Lord of Rouen, in honour of his Grandfather's Duchy of Normandy.

These were honorary titles, only for use within the Pack walls or in the presence of Her Majesty the Queen, but we were still feeling blown away by it all.

I mean, wouldn't you?

But it became even more poignant when Marcus bade us to stand by announcing:

"Arise, Sir Dean and Sir Sam."

I thought Sammy was gonna faint.

To be honest, I wasn't far off either.

"You have also unselfishly served the hidden realm of non-lunars," Marcus continued and smiled softly. "You placed your own lives in absolute danger, even when expressly forbidden to. And for that, we cannot thank you enough."

Marcus leaned over, and whispered out the corner of his mouth. "Though I can't promise Tobius won't kick your arse." He shrugged, apologetically. "Tried my best for you though."

Sammy and I just grinned and shrugged, then Sam told him: _Dude, already been there, done that and bought the damn tee-shirt._

I saw Castiel and Tobius both trying to smother their laughs, but quietened down when some important looking parchments were brought out by Lucas and Vicky, and I recognised them as the adoption certificates.

Two sad and forlorn pups trailed along behind Lucas, glancing around fearfully and generally looking lost and miserable.

Matthew and Logan.

They missed Cornelius like a parent, a brother, a _limb. _Poor kids.

But, when they saw us, the pups raced over, whimpering softly. As soon as Sam and I bent down, the youngsters jumped up at us, burying their snouts in our tunics. We gently ruffled their fur until they both sat back on their furry butts

_Can we go home with you? _Logan asked, forlornly, pawing at Sam's arm, tears in his puppy eyes, then realised where he was and tried to speak a little more politely. _Only, someone said we can go home with you..._

Matthew bumped against him. _Dude, too obvious... chillax, ok?_

_Screw you, turd-face, I'm just __**asking**_...

I swear Tobius was on the verge of pissing himself with laughter. He turned away for a moment, but his shoulders were shaking with mirth.

Sam didn't hesitate. He gladly gathered the two little furballs into his arms and nuzzled them gently with his nose, allowing the two pups to lick his face briefly.

"You're coming home with us, for good," he confirmed when he pulled back and let them loose. "But we need you to be quiet right now, ok?

The pups sat obediently at our feet, watching and waiting, their little furry bodies quivering with happiness and excitement. They sure made an adorable team. The news that we were gonna take care of them from now on had lifted that veil of sadness a little, though we could tell they still missed Cornelius like crazy. But they were young, just babies really. They would come to live with it, in time.

"Right!" proclaimed Lucas with a secretive grin. "I have another surprise for you! I'd like to welcome a new member to the Home Pack, but as an honorific only. The man prefers his independence, after all, and he does have a business to run. Though, I think, his true loyalties will lie with the semi-nomads amongst us."

To our shock, Bobby Singer stepped forward, smiling faintly, as though worried about our response. It was easy to see the signs, though. Gruff and sleep deprived he might have been, probably anxious over whether or not we'd fully accept him, but it was obvious Bobby was now one of us.

Bobby Singer; non-lunar werewolf. Never thought I'd see the day, but somehow it actually made a lot of sense.

He looked younger, freer, _tougher_... like we'd never seen him before, yet he was still our Uncle Bobby.

The older hunter let his grin widen when he saw our astonished faces.

Sam raced over to the guy, enveloped him in a huge hug, and buried his nose in the man's neck.

_Really? _Sam snuffled. _You're really with us now?_

'_Course I am, _Bobby looked over at me. _How could you think otherwise? Someone's gotta keep an eye on you idgits!_

I just grinned right back at him, in full approval.

Sam later asked Pastor Jim if he intended the same, but he merely hugged us both tightly and said "That's not God's will for me. Mortality was the path he presented, and that's the one I shall take."

Gotta say: guy's braver than me. And one day, we shall have to bear his loss.

The ceremony wasn't finished, however. There was a little more to come...

Marcus, with a proud Tobius and Castiel watching, pinned a small black iron medal to each of our chests.

There was an additional metal tag them, with some kind of military service number engraved:

230873 Lilibet Windsor.

Hmm. Who the hell's this Lilibet?

When I turned it over, I found this:

_Honi soit qui mal y pense_

_Sammy? What does this crap mean?_

Sam leaned over my shoulder and gasped loudly.

_Dude..._

"'Spurned be the one who evil thinks'", Tobius murmured, sounding awestruck. "That's... well..." he gazed at me, eyes filled with pride, and whispered: "That's derived from the Order of the Garter."

No idea what the fuck that meant, so Sammy had to explain a few things.

"It's a personal message from the Queen," he whispered, trying to keep quiet and save my dignity. "That service number? 230873? That was Elizabeth II, during World War Two, dude. She trained and worked as a mechanic..."

I hadn't known that, but I probably shouldn't have been so surprised.

After all, look what her distant cousin turned into.

I shook myself and got ready for the rest of the ceremony, trying my hardest not to feel overwhelmed.

Huh. No offence, but these wolves sure do like their parade bullshit. Again, probably their English roots at work here. I mean, have you ever watched, say, the Trouping of the Colour? Queen's birthday? Royal weddings? Talk about a mind melt...

"You are family," the Canadian Pack Alpha announced. "And honorary members of this Pack. You'll always be welcome in Canada. Come what may."

And so it went on for, like, another two hours, until Lucas declared it over by announcing:

"Right! Are we done now?" He glanced at Marcus for confirmation, received a fondly look of exasperation in return and added: "Good. Let's all go get pisshed!"

And the drunken merriment I had hoped for began in earnest.

Christ! What a day!

Sammy and I are now fucking _Lords! _How cool is that, exactly?

I glanced down at the medal pinned to my chest. It perfectly matched the one Sire was wearing on his tunic.

Sam nudged me. Down at our feet sat the two pups, Matthew and Logan, looking far happier than they had been when we first arrived.

Maybe one day we'll have our own Pack emblem, but right now?

We were happy with what we had.

Tobius stood at his brothers' side, and we took a long hard look at the original emblem on Sire's chest.

Finally, we understood its purpose. It wasn't referring to individual wolves.

It referred to group effort,

Teamwork, Family, Pack.

Love, Honour, Protection.

Three wolves; still howling at the moon.

_The End…_

_Or is it...?_

**The security camera pans out slightly, showing the digital audience that not only is this a maximum security electronic cell, but the sigils and various devils traps embedded in the walls mean business. **

**Crowley glares at something on his mobile phone.**

"**So this is Dean's Prime?" he snarls. "Nice. He gets a free Mickey Mouse title, along with his bastard son, and they make him Alpha? All given to him on a silver plate?"**

**He quickly types out a text message to the sender of the video.**

'_**keep an i on them til I can get out of here'**_

**There's a bleep. **

'**_when will that b?_'**

**Crowley eyes the response angrily.**

"**I don't bloody know, but soon!" He yells in a rage, throws the mobile across his cell, and paces up and down like a caged… well, wolf.**

**Nostrils flaring wider than the Impala's wheel arches, Crowley stalks to the bars of his dingy cell and peers through, huffing and snorting louder than an angry bull.**

"**_Soon,"_ he whispers to himself, cherry red eyes glowing bright with madness. "_Oh so very fucking soon..."_**

* * *

><p>That's it guys. It's finally over and you can sigh in relief.<p>

Also, just for your interest and reference, you can actually Google that service number and find that it does indeed belong to HRH Queen Elizabeth II, under her service name during WWII.

Many thanks for your wonderful and, at times, protective support for this story.

I do hope to visit this 'verse again, but I can't make any promises as to when.

In the mean time Hunter of the Shadows Book One is being published by Media West fanzine, and I have been informed that it will be nominated for the Fan Q Awards for Best Supernatural Story.

I'm so excited about that, so come on everyone! Let's see our favourite werewolves win this!

_Love and big Sammy, Dean, and Tobius hugs,_

_from ST XXX._


End file.
